Deployment
by CrimsonCaviar
Summary: This is a fanfic that started on a Reddit sub called Fallout Diaries. This story features a blow by blow account of NCR Ranger Dexter Fox and his unit as they sink their teeth into the Mojave and try to survive another tour of duty in the wasteland.
1. Deployment - 1

**Big Bear Lake**

Tonight's my last night on the boat and what a night it is, not a cloud in the Southern California sky. Stopped by Jack's place to say my goodbyes tonight. Wendy was of course there serving up a fresh batch of cactus punch and Jack even threw a couple coyote steaks on the grill for me, on the house. They're truly some good folks in these parts, better than I've found most places.

Shot a game of pool with Cotton over a couple of cigars he'd been saving for a special occasion. I got us a couple glasses from that bottle labeled 'scotch' that no one's touched for years. Should have been labeled gasoline for the way it burned as it went down. Old man won, of course. I was never very good at billiards and that hasn't improved of late. I asked Cotton about that little mangrove out back of his place and he agreed to let me moor the boat for as long as I like in exchange for the leftover gas from the generator. Small price to pay for a little peace of mind. I also asked Cotton if he'd be interested in firing it up every so often and taking it out on the lake, he didn't seem to take kindly to that. Boats not much use for a rancher, I suppose. At the very least, he wont let her sink… I hope. I'll take the boat up tomorrow before I head on to see if I can convince old Cotton to get his sea legs about him.

And of course I did that hard thing I'd been dreading for a while and broke it off with Carlita. She knew it was coming. I told her it'd be easier for the both of us, that I'd seen far too many troopers try to hang onto girls back home only to have it all fall apart. The truth is, she's far too young to be hanging on to some old Ranger. Still, I held her hand and tried to be tender, don't know that it did much good. She didn't say much beyond, "okay" through a couple of tears. I lit her smoke and gave her one last peck on the cheek and I was on my way. She'll be alirght, tough girl like that with some good folks around her will do fine out here.

I'll miss her, though. The way she helped me forget on good nights, laying out on the boat under the stars with a couple of tunes and a bottle of something. I knew it was wrong, a little nineteen year old thing hanging onto a thirty year old rolling stone. This was my little oasis though, the only real life I've known these past ten years. Carlita, the bar, the unadulterated countryside. There's life here and something refreshing about the calmness.

My papers came in a few weeks back. Some Mojave Express courier found me in the middle of a ranging, crazy bastards those couriers. I knew what it was the second she handed me the envelope with the big bear on it and the caps. In truth I'd been waiting on orders for some time but hoping they wouldn't find me. This will be my second Mojave tour, I'm still trying to forget the first one. My first command though, 1st Battalion, ODA Charlie, papers had my name as commanding officer signed by Hanlon himself. I took a look at the manifest but there were no familiar names. A few women, some medic from the regular Army and a comms officer. The other two, a marksman and fire team lead are men but their names are totally foreign. Probably some green troops fresh out of school. Whoever they are, they're my responsibility now.

Change of command ceremony is next Saturday at Mojave Outpost. I'll be relieving a team who's been out there a while. Not sure who is in charge of Mojave these days, but they'll be who I report to in the short term. Then, who knows. The mission hasn't changed, keep an eye on the Khans and the other on the East. Just so long as I don't have to see Red Rock Canyon again, I'll be alright.

That's all for tonight, weapons are cleaned up my old Remington and .357 in working order, the readius is fired up with fresh fission batteries. Boats up in the morning and I'm on the road to Barstow Depot. I can hoof it in two days if I don't meet any trouble on the road. I'll be taking 18 to 247 up. It's the road less traveled but the long 15 is a gamble these days and I'll be on it soon enough anyways. Not much in the way of ammo, so I'll need to keep to myself and not go looking for trouble.


	2. Deployment - 2

**Juanita's**

It was a cold, restless sleep last night, maybe an hour or two of shut-eye before the sun peaked over the horizon. As I lay in my cot staring into the blackness of the cabin I got to thinking, what if I just didn't leave? I could help Cotton on the farm or do some hunting and set up shop up the road. I could give it a go with Carlita, try to make a life for her and me. It would be hard at first, sure, caps are hard to come by, especially here, but we'd have each other and the boat. Maybe, if I put in enough time Cotton would let me keep the farm when he passed. Hell, I could just grab Carlita and we could take off anywhere with enough fuel and the ocean as our freeway. Maybe Angel's Boneyard, show her what big city living is like. I could find work there, maybe merc under an alias or something low key. My mind whirred with thoughts and plans and schemes which bled into a light, restless sleep.

I woke to an emptiness I hadn't felt in some time as I shuffled around the cabin. I lit a cigarette and sat on the folding chair looking out over the water as I tried to rub the cold and ache from my knees and my back. Save for the birds it was dead quiet as the sun crept over Deadman's Peak. I took care to breathe it all in one last time as waves of pink and orange danced off clouds as long as fingers. Solitude, I've learned, can be something you crave and something you dread all at the same time, and this was my last bit of it for a while.

Although I'd already done it twice before I felt compelled to check my gear again. I pulled everything from the old rucksack and laid it out, going over the inventory I had written out in my small notebook. I would be traveling light, maybe too light, but I knew I'd get provisioned at Barstow. I had set aside a pile of things to try and barter with. The agave plants I'd started on the roof matured at the right time and I had several bushels to work with. It's too bad the banana yucca never took, I remember how much of a bear it was getting all that topsoil onto the boat in the first place. Aside from the agave I had half a mind to try and sell off the little hibachi grill I'd been using to percolate coffee and cook here and there.

I repacked everything, taking to care place the old patrol armor at the top of my ruck. I decided it'd be best not to dress in full regalia as I travel alone, just in case there's some folks out there who'd love to knock off a Ranger as a trophy. My campaign hat wouldn't fit, so I rigged it up with some para-cord to the outside of my ruck. I covered it with a plastic bag to keep the dirt off the crest I'd just polished just in case the odd dust storm crept up on me these next couple of days.

Firing up the boat I drove her up Cotton's way and into the mangrove as best I could. Cotton was up nursing a cup of coffee on the porch. He watched as I tied off everything that wasn't already bolted down, rocking in his chair, the steam from his cup wafting into the morning air. I couldn't help but feel envious, of what I can't say. Pushing seventy and still tilling his fields. He's lost most everything including his family, yet he pushes on and keeps living a quiet, humble existence. My Drill Sergeant used to say, "Private, a man can be fulfilled by many things, but nothing will keep you fuller, longer, than a hard days work" I suppose Cotton was living proof.

Once the boat was done, I dropped the two cans of fuel I'd promised Cotton on his porch. He offered me a cup of coffee that I had to decline, I needed to make Lucerne by sundown, which meant I'd have to hit the road. There was a small trading post there called "Juanita's" where I planned on bartering what I had. I decided to leave the hibachi with Cotton also, too cumbersome to carry, though, I could probably have gotten a good deal for it. In return I grabbed a few logs from his wood pile and a couple of corn stalks. A firm handshake later and I was off.

I gave the boat one last look, the old rust bucket. She was my first real project. Amazing what you can accomplish with a copy of Fixin' Things. She was all bolted down now, scrap metal over the windows, hatch was locked up tight. With any luck, I'd see her again one day, maybe for good next time.

I passed Carlita's trailer with a pit in my stomach on the way out of town. I clenched my jaw and kept moving, .357 on my hip, eyes front. Pushing up the 18 I didn't see a soul for hours as the road meandered through low mountains. There were a few cabins here and there with smoke in the chimneys but for the most part there was just road for miles. Though it was NCR territory, is was only so in the loosest of terms. There had not been a regular patrol here and the closest outpost was in Barstow. The people in these parts are a hardy breed, simple folks, and I suspect NCR influence wouldn't be kindly received.

The sun pushed higher in the sky and with it the temperature rose. Soon there were waves of heat snaking off the pavement. I found a rock outcropping that was fairly protected about three hours in and stopped for a can of pork and beans and to put my feet up and change socks. Canned food, better acquire the taste again. I tinkered with my old radio, punched all of the NCR frequencies to see if I could pick up any Barstow traffic but was too far off.

A little further down the way I passed a group of what looked to be heavily armed prospectors. There were four of them, one pushing a shopping cart full of scrap metal and other odds and ends. I spied them first around a bend and considered an alternate route but they'd seen me by the time I had a plan. I decided to play it cordial and kept one hand on my iron, gave a curt, "howdy" and was on my way.

Before long the sun was getting low and the 18 panned into Lucerne Valley. The central part of town was where the 18 and 247 connected. No traffic in any direction without going through Lucerne first. They kept the main portion of the shanty-town surrounded by a hastily built junk wall guarded by a few fellas that live there. Part of the deal with Lucerne was the "road tax" one paid when passing through. It was extortion in the truest sense, but it'd been going on for years and become accepted in these parts. They asked my business as I approached and happily took 25 caps to allow me inside the gates.

Juanita's was a one story junk shop in the middle of town lit up in a bevy of neon signs. Juanita was a bit of a collector and had an affinity for things that were bright and flashy. She was an older woman with a large girth who'd seen more than most. I couldn't recall where she was from, but she'd been dealing with the seediest of clientele for more than 20 years in various places. She also kept about ten dogs at any given time, and each time I passed through here, it seemed there were new ones. I reminded myself not to buy any 'coyote meat' from old Juanita.

It turns out while Juanita had an affinity for finer things, she didn't care much for the bushels of agave I had for her. "I can't even feed that to the dogs," she said, brushing back a handful of stringy grey hair and spitting a wad of phlegm into the dirt as one of her mutts barked behind a chain link cage. I had my eye on her box of .308 rounds, I only had 10 for the rifle and if I met trouble between here and Barstow, I'd need every one. She ended up taking the agave... and the rest of my NCR stipend, 100 caps, for her box of 20 .308 rounds. Some things are just more important than getting a fair shake.

No Inn in Lucerne and no caps for the tavern down the road so it looks like bedroll and stars for me tonight. A few stragglers around setting up cook fires, found a nice corner of junk wall to setup in. Looks like I'll be charring up some agave tonight. Already missing the lake, back aches, knees hurt, it's gonna be a long year. Barstow tomorrow with any luck.


	3. Deployment - 3

**Almost to Barstow**

My cook fire had died and all that remained were embers when a ruckus began to kick up at the gates. There were some rules in Lucerne, one of them involved gate hours posted clearly "between 6 AM - 8 PM, no entry, no exit." I checked my readius just to be sure, 0100, the dead of night.

I began to unholster my iron when the gates flung open and in the midst of some hollerin' a caravan poured in, or what could loosely be referred to as a caravan made up mostly of a merc company and a few civilians. They were armed fairly heavy, automatic rifles and an LMG, even spotted some frag grenades and most were wearing some type of heavy plate. Definitely atypical for these parts, definitely not from around here.

Space was at a premium inside the walls and they found their way into my little courtyard which I'd picked for its solitude. The mercs plopped down cardboard bedrolls no thicker than a ruler and soon I had well more company than I had anticipated or wanted. I let out a sigh and lit another cigarette as I came to terms with the thought of another sleepless night. A bonfire was soon raging, bathing the entire courtyard in an orange hue as the mercs skulked about. One of the civilians decided to pitch a fit about the living conditions, Francine Ponderosa, I only know her name because she spoke at length about herself in the third person. She wore a skirted business suit that looked about three days too ripe and a pair of high heels to match which had their heels broken off. I'd be cranky too if I'd been hoofing it in those things. The man that was with her was equally dapper in a three piece suit caked through with dirt and sweat. He didn't say much and kept glued to Francine as she paced back and forth.

She reiterated that "for Francine Ponderosa, only the finest of accommodations will do," pestered the mercs for a while who spat and rolled their eyes. None argued, though, and half were fast asleep by the time she stormed off into the darkness in search of "proper accommodation" for the evening.

I thought that was the end of it until she reemerged an hour or so later. She made it a point to wake the group to voice her displeasure. "What do I pay you neanderthals for?" She asked as she ripped into a backpack and laid out several set of silken sheets atop one of the cardboard pads. There were chuckles and more eye rolling, including my own. I thought about finding some other corner to rest my eyes in, but my back and my knees wanted otherwise. The man she was with helped her make "the bed" then held up a towel, shielding her from our neanderthal eyes as she undressed and emerged in a set of silk pajamas. She'll regret wearing all that silk as the morning dew sets in. Her face shriveled as though she'd smelled a rotten egg as she slipped into the makeshift bedding making a point to sigh. "Humiliating," she finally huffed before dozing off.

Morning came more quickly then I'd have liked and I found myself chatting with a few of the mercs over a cup of coffee and a couple of cigarettes to try and clear the sleep from my brain. There was Tommy and Rick, both young kids from The Hub that were on their first job who were anxious to tell me about the geckos they'd gunned down the day before. Liam, the veteran of the bunch had taken to calling them "the greenhorns," much to their chagrin. Liam knew the most, a former NCR trooper, he'd lost his shooting eye to shrapnel with 1st BTN Bravo CO at Hoover Dam a couple of years back. A medical discharge and the need for caps landed him with the merc company, they called themselves "The Skulls" and ran mostly protection jobs for caravans headed west. This was their first jaunt east since he'd left the Mojave.

I was curious about where they were headed, and the piece of work that was with them. Liam said the Ponderosa's were "the premier purveyors and traders of the finest jewels in the West," at least that was the pitch he was able to recite. He said it was an odd job, that Francine showed up like she was going to a business meeting, not to hoof it ten days into Vegas. Her heels broke about three hours in and she demanded to be carried and would only relent when Liam threatened to abandon the job. There was a buyer in Vegas apparently, big money he thought but couldn't be certain. The contract was lucrative, and it had to be. The roads in and out of New Vegas had become notoriously hazardous to navigate, and merc companies were beginning to turn down contracts east of Mojave Outpost.

I wished them good luck and safe travels as I hit the road and left them a few smokes as a gesture of good will. They were going to need all the luck they could get with a woman like that. I still had somewhere around 35 miles to cover, so I made haste before the heat came while the sun was still low on the horizon. Just outside Lucerne, 247 north was more populated than the 18. There were small pockets of civilization here and there, lots of junked out cars, garbage strewn about. I shuffled through the sprawl for about an hour before the road gave way to a long stretch of flat land that was as bare as the desert gets. With no cover, I decided to stop and eat early while there wasn't another person in sight. I settled on my last can of pork and beans, I figured I could get the corn stalks I had a little crispy on the fire tonight and that should be just fine. My canteen was running low as well, I decided on half rations for the rest of the trip to avoid having to dip into irradiated water somewhere. I gave the radio another go before I laced up, still nothing but static and few indecipherable notes here and there.

The afternoon sun beat heavier than yesterday, and at half water my pace slowed considerably. I found my mind wandering as I stared at the same stretch of road for miles and miles. The distant mountain range seemed to merely inch closer and closer with each hour that past. Around 1500 I shed some clothes and wrapped my sweat soaked shirt around my head to keep the rays from burning my scalp. I knew I wasn't going to make Barstow in this heat, so I settled on reaching the mountains before sundown if I really pushed. Maybe there'd be a spring there, at the very least some shade and a cactus or two.

I made the range as the sun fell, and fumbling around in the dark, I found a rocky overlook that was covered on three sides. In the distant horizon there was a noticeable glow, that would be Barstow, I'd probably make it by tomorrow afternoon. Decided against a cook fire, can't be too sure who or what is out here. Ate raw corn with a side of fleshy agave, not the tastiest. Was very lucky to almost stumble upon a prickly pear cactus as I was setting up camp that had a ton of fruit on it. Spent the better part of the evening skinning the pears and spitting out the seeds. Saved six whole pears for the road tomorrow and gorged on the rest. Laid out on the bedroll and listened to the critters traipse around the valley below. Sounds like invertebrates, don't think they can reach me up here. Eyelids too heavy to do anything about it tonight.


	4. Deployment - 4

**On Top of A Rock**

Well, I'm pretty well fucked on the idea of getting to Barstow today. Last night I passed out into a deep dreamless sleep, the type of sleep that has eluded me of late. I don't know if the last two days have worn me down, but for whatever reason, I slept heavy. When I woke this morning the sun was already up over the eastern horizon and the readius read 0700. What I didn't notice last night as I haphazardly climbed this rock outcropping for some cover is that I am literally in the midst of a radscorpion nest. I had heard them last night, scuttling about, but I figured they'd just be passing through. Now, I find myself completely surrounded, in their home.

Luckily for me, I was able to climb to somewhat higher ground via a crevasse in the rock face behind me. Bugs don't climb, at least the small ones don't. The peak of the rock scramble isn't very high, but I can see 247 through my binoculars which is about a click off to my West. Between my current location and the road itself are anywhere between 12-20 critters of all shapes and sizes.

I decided when I'd climbed up here hours ago that I could probably clear them. I did the math and took into account the .308 rounds I'd purchased from Juanita yesterday, I had about two shots per critter and that should have done me just fine. The Remington has enough umph to penetrate the exoskeleton, and the .308 rounds are larger than the .357, so it seemed like a simple enough task.

The first one I lined up was the big un. The tail itself probably stood seven or eight feet. I figured, take out the big boys first, and the rest will be cake. I exhaled and squeezed a round off to where I thought would be center mass only to watch in horror as the round skirted off about 20 meters high and right. I had hoped, optimistically it turns out, that my scope was still zeroed after a few months of underuse. When I'd gotten settled on the boat back at the lake I'd put the rifle away in a case and stuffed her under my cot for safe keeping. I guess at some point between then and now something got skewed with the sight picture.

No matter, I thought, 20 meters was nothing and a few clicks down and left should zero me right in. The critters were a little frenzied now, the concussion from the rifle had them stirring about. I went to pull the bolt back to expend the casing and got… nothing. The bolt was stuck. I pulled at it with two hands, and still nothing. I put the butt of the rifle on the ground and used my foot and _still_ the damn thing was seized up. Something in there is stuck real good, and it's gonna take some serious doctoring to get it working again. I remembered the bolt giving me trouble when I was cleaning her out a few days ago, but I didn't imagine on my first shot that she'd jam up on me.

With the Remington out of commision all I had left was my .357 mag. Problem is, the critters aren't close enough for me to be truly effective. Even if I were to jump down and mix it up at close range, I don't have the rounds and I'd be reloading too slow to keep them at bay. So here I am, on top of this boulder, waiting them out.

The whole incident was a few hours ago and the frenzy has somewhat died down. They were crawling all over each other trying to get up this rock face but now they just seem to be watching me, just seventy-two sets of bug eyes looking up… I counted.

I cracked on the radio and left the scanning function on just in case any NCR patrols happen by. I'm not anxious to request rescue, how would that look? I can see the headlines now, "Ranger gets stranded on top of rock after sleeping in scorpion den." On second thought, maybe I should just switch the damn thing off. I think I'd rather burn up under the desert sun.

I have the rest of the pears I picked off the cactus last night, I'll probably try to work on this rifle some more and give the pears a good shave while I wait for the critters to clear out. Only worry is my water supply and I'm running out of smokes. All I really want is a shower, a shave and something cold to drink. It's about 1400 now, Hopefully I can get out of here by sundown.


	5. Deployment - 5

**NCR Depot - Barstow**

The sun came and went and it was black before the critters returned to their nest allowing me to tip-toe back onto the open road. It wasn't safe to travel at night. The tactical advantage of the darkness was supposed to be something friendly, second nature even. When there are no fancy night vision contraptions to be used though, all that's left is a blackness that's mind-bendingly dark. Night was when ambushes happened. When you felt the hot breath of someone breathing down your neck, or smelled the cordite after a frag mine ripped through your kneecap. Raiding parties loved the darkness, and if ambush was an art it was perfected in the wastes.

 _Quieter than a shadow_ , that was part of the deal for us. Never my forte. Week thirteen of Ranger school had me navigating a minefield in the dark in full battle-rattle. They recycled me twice before I got it right. Good thing those mines weren't live.

Each step was painstakingly slow and calculated. I wanted to just find another patch of ground to lay in until morning, but the lightness of my canteen urged me on. Every bend in the road, rusted out car and trash pile was scrutinized before carefully passing through. Walking parallel to the road was safest, not likely to encounter traps in the dirt but a sprained ankle wasn't far off if you weren't careful. After a little ways Barstow became even more visible. The depot and its massive warehouses glowed with spotlights and street lamps emanating a hue of white light into the overcast night sky. The light was almost enough to illuminate the terrain.

I pressed on, moving, bounding, listening for what seemed like hours. Every once in awhile the hairs on the back of my neck would stand on end and I would hold my breath and listen to the wind. I imagined one of those critters following me all this way and sending a stinger through my back or a feral ghoul waiting to rip out my throat from around the corner. Fear is good, fear can keep you sharp but can also make you stupid.

It was a few hours down the road when the chambering of a round broke the silence. I froze in place, feeling the weight of the .357 in my hand. A bead of sweat formed and streaked down my forehead. The sky had begun to lighten into a midnight blue which ever so slightly silhouetted the barrel of a rifle.

"Citizen, holster your weapon and state your business." A voice called out from the darkness that could only be NCR.

"On my way to Barstow," the words cut through the dryness in my throat. I let out a sigh, pushing the .357 back into its leather. "In-processing." With that a flood light buzzed on and hit me squarely. The sound of feet shuffling across dirt drew closer.

"Papers," said the man. I reached into my ruck and handed my NCR packet off into the darkness, shielding my eyes with a hand. The waste was pitch black save for a giant spotlight pointed at me. _If they're aiming, I hope they hit true_. The man returned a minute later and the spotlight clicked off,

"Lieutenant Fox," he said, slapping the papers back into my hand, "excuse the lights sir, we saw you coming from about two clicks out but couldn't get a positive ID. Can't be too sure out here. Just radioed you in, they've been expecting you over at HQ. Wait here and a truck will be up at daybreak. We'll get you some hot chow in the mean time. Welcome to Barstow, Ranger."

* * *

I salivated over the hot meal, two eggs and bits of Iguana fried up in some big-horner fat that dripped and smelled of grease. The stale piece of bread the soldier had handed me sopped up every last morsel that I took down between sips of blisteringly strong black-coffee. A few cigarettes later, the sound of a truck door woke me from my post-chow coma. The sun was up now revealing the line of folks processing through the checkpoint. The soldiers from the darkness were now working as a well-oiled machine, papers, identification, state your business and be on your way.

The kid from the truck craned and grimaced as he grabbed my things.

"You need help with that, solider?" I asked.

"No Sir," he said, motioning to the truck. "After you."

Private Kilgore was a scrawny kid from a small town called Golden Hills who'd been in Barstow only a few weeks. He wore a pair of glasses about three inches thick that he'd push back up his face with every pothole in the road. Had me wondering if we were going to die in a fiery crash. Trucks made me nervous, well vehicles in general. They were loud, uncomfortable, and moved at an absurdly quick pace. At that speed, anything at all could happen and you'd be deader than a doornail.

The Depot wasn't far off and Kilgore got us there in one piece. Barstow itself wasn't a sprawling metropolis but it wasn't a small town either. It had everything a soldier could need. Two saloons, a general store, a couple of inns. On the NCR side, the Depot was the largest in-processing station for soldiers moving in and out of the Mojave. There were four main warehouses, part of a pre-war military installation that was relatively untouched when the NCR pushed out east. The warehouses boxed in a large courtyard that housed the motor-pool, armory and was large enough to accommodate several infantry platoons should the barracks overflow.

Kilgore showed me to the barracks and left me with instructions to report into the post CO, Colonel Nolan, once I'd settled in. There were two main bays that housed soldiers in a male and female wing. The inside was one large open area with bunks and footlockers as far as the eye could see. There were soldiers there that looked fresh out of boot. Clean uniforms, fresh haircuts. The conversation hushed as I walked by, the blaring radio twanging off the sheet metal walls drowning out the whispering. _I must be looking as shitty as I feel_. I picked a bunk on the far end of the bay.

My first order of business was requisitioning a bar of soap and something to shave with. I found the quartermaster in one of the adjacent buildings who happily obliged. The cold shower was most welcome on my sunburnt body. All that time on top of that rock had my skin nice and tender. My beard had grown quite unruly, nothing the straight edge couldn't handle, though. Still need a haircut, that'd have to wait though, it was time to go see the Colonel.


	6. Deployment - 6

**NCR Depot - Barstow**

With a fresh shave and a clean ass I set out to find Colonel Nolan. Nolan's name didn't ring a bell, seems I didn't know anyone these days with the ever changing NCR leadership. With the army stretched from Klamath to Baja, seems folks were coming and going more often than not. Officers were earning field promotions and there were more Majors and Lieutenant Colonels than there were troopers to command. Pair that with the influx of new recruits with bare-bones training and the whole damn army was turning into nothing more than a well-armed militia.

I walked through the administration building and found Nolan deep inside a maze of cubicles and offices. Worker bees sat propped up at RobCo terminals flanked by giant stacks of paper, fast fingers tapping away. CB radios crackled in and out with gate requests and supply movement, all coordinated by a team of soldiers who scrambled to consult their giant charts plastered to the walls. Each department has its own label etched into a wooden plaque so wandering soldiers wouldn't get lost, "supply, ops, medical."

I found Kilgore fidgeting with a stack of papers outside of Nolan's office. He banged his knee on his desk as he issued me a passing salute, apologizing for the sake of apologizing. Nolan's office was a cramped space with just enough room for a desk and two chairs that smelled of stale bourbon and sweat. The window was propped open by a couple of books yet the heat was stifling. I took a seat across from Nolan whose eyes remained glued to the stack of papers sprawled across his desk.

"Colonel Nolan."

"We were expecting you some time ago, Fox." Nolan said, black, narrow eyes considering me from behind a set of reading glasses. "Trouble on the road?"

"No trouble."

"Well," he leaned back and stuffed a handful of papers into the filing cabinet behind his desk, "while you were taking your sweet time you've completely fucked my resupply train. I had planned on sending you East with some of my guys on Monday but I had to scratch that waiting on you to grace us with your presence. Gonna be a lot of pissed off folks over at Mojave missing their rations." I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and clamped it between my lips, reaching for the ashtray buried underneath the mound of papers.

"Never known a Ranger Detachment to need a convoy escort before, why start now?."

"Normally I'd agree with you, Fox, if there was a Ranger Detachment headed East there'd be no need, but there's only two of you far as I know…" _Two of us?_ Nolan picked up the mug from his desk, the liquid caught in his throat. "Christ on a crutch. Private, warm me up some god damn coffee. You want some coffee? Oh who am I kidding, of course you do. Make that two Private. You take sugar? Of course you don't…"

"Sugar?" Kilgore asked.

"What'd you just call me Private?" Nolan slammed his mug onto the table.

"N-n-nothing. Sir. Nothing. Coming right up, sir."

"I tell you what, Fox, if that boy had leather for brains, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug."

"I have the manifest right here, says there should be a full detail."

"I know what the manifest says Fox, but your people are scattered. Seems you aren't the only one having trouble getting to your duty station on time. Camp Golf sent word this morning. Most of your people are still North of Vegas, somethings slowing their roll."

"Fiends."

"Fiends, Goblins, Werewolves, doesn't make a lick of difference to me." The lines in his forehead grew deeper as he rubbed at the circles under his eyes, "all I know is I need to get you and your plus one to Mojave Outpost by Friday, which gives us very little time to jaw jack and exchange pleasantries."

"Who's my other soldier?"

"Lets see here," Nolan began to flip through the papers again, "ah, Gomez. The one they called up from the regular Army, 2nd battalion, somewhere out of Shady Sands. Been here since Saturday. Got her working in the infirmary I think, but fuck me if I can remember everyone's duty assignments. I can barely keep my own people straight, much less the ones passing through." Nolan set his glasses down and lifted his mug once more, inspecting the contents, "Private, hows that coffee coming? And find out where I put Gomez. Better yet, go get her, but bring us that coffee first."

Gomez stumbled in out of breath and red-faced with Kilgore trailing in tow. The first thing I noticed was her missing weapon, the second thing I noticed was the general dishevelment that her uniform appeared to be in. Her shirt was untucked, left boot unlaced and a lock of matted black hair was stuck to her forehead. In addition to her weapon she was also missing her headgear. Nothing fit right. Rail thin and babyfaced, she looked like a twelve year old who was playing dress up in her daddy's clothes. Hell, she could've been twelve for all I knew.

"Corporal Gomez, this is Ranger Fox, your commanding officer." Nolan announced me, then spit the fresh coffee Kilgore had delivered back into his cup, too hot. I stared at Gomez waiting for her to salute or say anything at all, she didn't. She's done her homework, at least.

"Alright, good." I said, breaking the silence to light my cigarette. "So you're Gomez."

"MJ," she said through labored breaths.

"MJ." I repeated, "That some kinda nickname, then?"

"Rangers, right?" She rolled an eye and blew the hair from her face, "that's how you do things, informal." Nolan managed a chuckle behind me. I felt the heat rise in my sunburnt face.

"Informal will get you killed, Corporal. Mind yourself."

"Mary Jane." She crossed her arms and leaned against the door jam, "I know, stupid name. Parents were fond of the stuff."

"Well. MJ. Mary Jane. This is my outfit and I'm fixin' to play things my way. If you want to be MJ in your down time, that's fine, but when you're with me you'll be Corporal Gomez. We clear on that?"

"Yes Sir, Ranger Sir." She feigned a lazy salute, a smirk across her face. "Permission to be dismissed, sir!" I stood from my chair and bit down on the filter of my cigarette until I could taste the nicotine bleeding through. I stepped in closer, towering over her, she looked even younger up close.

"You're on mighty thin ice there, Corporal. You really want a dressing down?"

"With all due respect, Sir, I ran all this way from sick call because someone told me this was urgent. Are we going to continue to dick around about names or can I get back to the patient I was treating?"

"Is that why you seem to be missing your headgear and service weapon, Corporal?" It was then that I saw the pistol tucked into her waistband. A 9mm custom job. She pulled it out and cocked the hammer back.

"You were saying?"

* * *

After making acquaintance with my latest headache I spent most of the afternoon in the spin-cycle they call inprocessing. Uniforms needed to be measured and issued, boots needed to be re-soled, haircuts needed to be had, all of which required a lot of ass sitting and chain-smoking while the task at hand was completed. The first snag came when I took the Remington over to the armory.

"There's a hitch in the chamber," the guy there reckoned, "needs to be buffed out before it'll be operational again."

"How long," I asked.

"At least a week. Got quite a backlog and I don't have the parts for it here."

"I don't have a week," I said, though I knew I was barking up the wrong tree, "need it by morning." He laughed, then gave the weapon another look.

"Tell you what," he said, "I'll give you six-hundred caps for it."

Looks like I'll be needing a new rifle.

I sat through thirteen briefings with various departments like "Health & Human Services," and, "Morale, Welfare and Recreation." I re-learned how to fill out forms, so many god damn forms. Need more smokes? Here's a requisition form. Soldier misbehaving? Take this disciplinary action form. Encounter the enemy on patrol? Make sure you call in your SALUTE. Oh, but you shot at them? Well here's an AAR. Butt itches? Sounds like gluteal pruritus, here's your form. There was even a briefing on "recreation in the Mojave," which featured everything you'd ever want to know about avoiding "gonorrhea from Gommorah." Can't make this shit up.

We leave at 0300 for Mojave Outpost and will be severely hauling ass to make it in time for Saturday's ceremony. Thought about getting into a bottle but think I'll sleep instead.


	7. Deployment - 7

**Afton Canyon**

The dream came again last night. The same old dream that always comes at the damndest of times.

I woke in a stupor, sheets clinging to my body. I tore them off, freezing. My hands shook as I opened a pack of cigarettes, I reached for the smoke facing opposite the others. _Lucky. God damn_ , my heart was pounding, blackness crept up the sides of my vision as I went to sit back down on the bunk. Deep breaths and I'd see a face I knew wasn't real, or was it. I'd hear the same phrase bleeding from the dream over and over, "well that there's a death gurgle, Sergeant. Funny aint it." Then the face again, a girl with green eyes as dark as a pond. Death gurgle, Sergeant. The face was closer now, am I holding her again? Funny, aint it. I see Tops mustache, yellow teeth, tobacco lip. FUNNY, aint it. Blood, then warmth. FUNNY, AINT IT. Green eyes, Tops mustache, tobacco lip. FUNNY, AINT IT. Green eyes, Tops mustache. AINT IT. Green eyes. Death gurgle. AINT IT. Green eyes. AINT IT. AINT IT. AINT IT.

"Hey, are you okay, man?" Someone was shaking me, I reached for my gun. They were holding me down, _why? Can't they see them?_

"Sir, calm down."

"I think he's dreaming."

"Why isn't he waking up then?"

"Medic!"

"No Medic, she's dead, don't need no Medic."

"Who do you mean?"

"He's going fucking crazy, man."

"Shut up for a second, where's Doc?"

"Right there, he's coming."

"No Medic, it's too late. Don't you see the blood? Where's my cigarette. Help me find my cigarette."

"Get his cigarettes."

"Make sure it's the right one. It's face up. The lucky one."

"Get his fucking cigarettes."

"What's his name?"

"Where the fuck is Doc?"

"Just give me a cigarette, why are you holding me, just give me a cigarette and I'll be on my way."

"What's happening."

"He's talking to himself."

"He's going fucking crazy, man."

"Shut up."

"Sir, do you know where you are? Have you taken any drugs this evening?"

Barstow, I was in Barstow.

* * *

My hands had stopped shaking by the time I'd found Gomez. The convoy had formed up around a bonfire that had been burning in the courtyard. The infantry platoon that Nolan had assigned to get us from Barstow to Mojave moved in the shadows, securing gear, sucking down last cigarettes or bits of chow. There were brahmin too, I could smell the shit. Three of them, loaded down with everything from rations and munitions to booze and smokes. Gomez sat cross legged by the fire with her nose in a book. Everything looked wrong, her helmet, her ruck.

"Alright, Corporal, weapons check." Gomez stood and shoved her book into her ruck.

"Damn, sir." She said, scrunching her face, "been wrestling with a deathclaw?"

"Weapons check, lets go. Mags, safety?"

"Good to go. Locked and loaded, Sir."

"Rations, canteen, socks?"

"Socks, sir?"

"For your feet, Corporal. I want to see you changing out every time we stop. March like this, liable to get blisters and all sorts of ugliness going on in those boots."

"Got it, Sir." Gomez bent down to pull on her ruck, swaying from side to side to deal with the weight.

"How much do you reckon you weigh, Gomez?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"How much does that ruck weigh?"

"I don't know, hundred, maybe hundred-fifty pounds."

"Goddamn."

"I can do it. I mean. I've done it before."

"How about that helmet? Can't have that thing bobblin' around like that. They didn't have smaller sizes?"

"I'll be fine." Gomez tightened her helmet strap as her cheeks reddened.

"Fine. No dilly-dallying, we're hauling ass. I'd better not catch you fallin' back or there'll be hell to pay."

"Good."

"You file middle. I'll take point. Keep your distance, the others will fill the gaps. If there's contact find cover. You're the most important person in this convoy, so keep your head about you, keep your that helmet strapped tight, and stay alive."

"Fine."

Her eyes were green, too.

The convoy spooled up and before long we were on the road in the dead of night. Nolan had detailed a team of twelve, all of whom had made this run dozens of times before. They'd taken to calling themselves the Barstow Express, and they had no qualms with me taking point. We split off into three squads, a lead, left and right flank moving in wedge to protect the middle.

I wouldn't normally take point but tonight I needed to clear my head. It was a long, flat, straight away to Mojave outpost and the nightvision goggles bathed the wastes in a bright greenish hue. if anything was coming, we'd see it first. The pace was quick. My ruck dug into my shoulders and my patrol armor was heavier than I remembered it, but I pushed on. The group was quiet. This was a walk in the park for them, just another day, just another run. In truth, it felt good to have cover. We were well armed and intimidating enough that a skirmish was unlikely.

I had to keep my mind occupied though, I couldn't let it drift. I'd had the dream before, but not for some time now. It was worse than I remembered it being, that realm between reality and dream world. I turned my mind towards the lake and Carlita. The stars were out tonight, like so many nights on the boat. On a night like tonight we'd make a bed on the bow and just lay as the boat bobbed in the gentle waves. I remembered how her hair would fall and the dimples in small of her back, how her lips always tasted sweet after she'd been into a bottle of rum. She'd lay on my cot and smoke my cigarettes naked as the day she was born and talk about the big plans she had. She could sing too, God, she could sing. There was this holotape her mother had given her, some pre-war singer. Carlita knew every word. I'd wake up and she'd be singing a tune and I'd just listen and listen and think to myself, _I could die here, now, and that would be alright._

The morning darkness gave way to light and the heat came on again. We stopped briefly to eat and cool off around 1100, we'd been already been on the move for eight hours, sixteen more to go. I reached into my pack and realized in the darkness I'd grabbed all the same kind of MRE, number 22, jambalaya. Damnit. Jambalaya had a reputation, "jamba will make you samba, straight to the latrine," they used to say. I was able to barter the chocolates that came in the MRE for a can of Cram from one of the infantry guys which I wrapped in some shortbread and created the legendary NCR military dish "the shit sandwich." I checked on Gomez after, she was changing her socks, nose back in the book she was reading.

The pace slowed as the afternoon wore on. The brahmin, who'd been keeping on well decided to slow in the afternoon sun. I found myself walking several paces ahead only to have to wait for the beasts to catch up. We played this game for several hours until the sun dipped under the western horizon. There was an old campground called Afton Canyon that the infantry guys used as a rest stop that we broke camp on for the night. There was good cover, and an overwatch position in the form of an old railroad bridge that overlooked the small canyon the campground was in. We were nine hours out and the readius read 1900, we'd break camp at 0100. No time for cook fires or tents, bedrolls were laid out and sleep came easy for most. Even the brahmin seemed to doze off the second we stopped.

I took overwatch, there would be no sleep for me, not after last night, so I setup on the railroad bridge with my NVG's, cigarettes and radio and settled in for the night. I hadn't settled long when I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. The NVG's caught her movement.

"You should be sleeping, Corporal."

"And there should be more than one of us on overwatch, sir." Gomez sat down and leaned against the metal pillar.

"That's not how we do things."

"Well, however we do things, I can't sleep with all that snoring down there. May as well be up here, right? Four eyes better than two?"

"Expect to be doin' much scouting with that book in your hand?"

"I can multi-task."

"Not in my unit, you can't."

"Okay, then, I'll just sit here and read, how's that?"

"How're you gonna read in the dark?"

"Same way you can see in the dark."

"NVG's? Goddamnit, you should be sleeping… What you got there, anyways?"

"You wouldn't like it."

"Probably right."

"How far are we, from the Outpost?"

"Bout' fifty clicks."

"What's it like there, the Mojave Wasteland?"

"You'll find out soon enough."


	8. Deployment - 8

**Ranger Outpost - Mojave**

We've been settling into the outpost over the past few days which has taken nearly all of my free time for writing. By we, I mean Gomez and I. Thompson, Reid and Williams are still mysteriously missing somewhere north of Vegas. Ranger Johns, my new supervisor and Outpost Commander says Camp Golf expects to issue a report in the morning on their whereabouts so for now it's thumb twiddlin' time.

In addition to keeping this journal, Johns advised I am to issue field reports daily. I've even got my own desk and RobCo terminal to enter them into. Suppose that makes me a real officer now, looks like I'll be keeping desk hours.

Our journey from Afton Canyon to the Outpost was uneventful. It was strange not to see another living soul on the road from Barstow to here but all made sense as we arrived. There's a real log jam of folks here at the Outpost, NCR orders. Something about the roads being unfit for travel. Funny, because the 15 from Barstow to the Outpost seemed perfectly fine. Maybe we got lucky.

Wasn't much time to settle in before our change of command ceremony was set to begin. Made acquaintance with the outbound squad who we'd be taking over for, and as luck would have it, this was Esteban Morales' crew. Esteban and I were both part of Ranger Class 57 back at Shady Sands, he's one of the few who made it start to finish with us. Our class had particularly bad attrition, ended up only graduating nine of us so it was pretty rare to run into a classmate out here.

The ceremony was short and to the point and hadn't changed since the last time I sat through one of these. Back then, I was a young Ranger, and my detachments flag bearer. Today, it was just Gomez and three empty spaces where my Rangers should be. By default, Gomez was my flag bearer and I spent some time going over the procedure with her. Under the watchful eye of Johns and the Garrison Commander for the regulars Major Bonneville, Esteban would remove the detachment guidon from his flag bearer, carefully fold it per NCR regs, pass to Johns who would pass to me and in turn to Gomez who'd rig it up on our on guidon. Gomez did well, but something about it didn't feel right. Here were these five Rangers passing control of the detachment they'd fought for over the past twelve months we should at least have a full detachment to receive. Instead, a soldier, not even a Ranger stood as flag bearer and I stood there overseeing the whole thing. When I'd imagined this moment after Officer Candidate School, this was not what I'd had in mind.

I caught up with Esteban post-ceremony hoping to get a lay of the land. He'd left me a detailed book of notes, everything from maps with hot spots and coordinates detailed on it to local politics. Said everything I'd ever need was in there. I thanked him and asked what he'd be doing now that his tour was over. "Getting married," he said, reaching in his pocket and pulling a wrinkled polaroid of himself and a young girl with brown eyes and dimples. "That's my Christina, met her after Ranger School. She's a great girl, man, kept me sane out here, you know? We'll be hitched out in Shady Sands. Then, hopefully just finding a quiet plot of land to relax in until my papers come again."

Esteban's crew were anxious to get on the road so I didn't keep them long. I envied them as they made down the 15 back towards Barstow. I remembered how that felt, the relief of out-processing, the end of deployment, and I wondered if I would be as lucky as Esteban when it was my turn to cycle out.

That night we settled into the area of the barracks that Esteban and his people had just cleared out. The Outpost hasn't changed much since I'd last been through here. The barracks are the same; a thirty-bed bay with foot lockers, bare bones, really. I forgot what lack of privacy can feel like and I was suddenly thankful to have an office in the admin building to escape to. The one addition to the Outpost was a bathhouse out behind the barracks. It looks to be pretty hastily set up, particle board stalls with spigots that required hand pumping to operate. The water was freezing, but it was better than bathing out of a trough like we'd have to do before.

The bar is still the same, save for the woman who now runs the place, Lacey. Not sure what happened to old Tombo but Lacey seems a good enough sort. Place was overrun though, caravans, roving traders, all sorts packed into the bar to the point there was standing room only. Garrison has posted guards at the kitchen to keep the non-military types out of the barracks. The courtyard out back is full of pup-tents, bedrolls and cook-fire's to the point I could barely move without offending someone. The upside is, booze wasn't too hard to come by and got myself into a bottle of rum and slept the kind of sleep only booze can bring on.

* * *

Yesterday was a religious holiday at the Outpost so most of the garrison had the day off save for the security detail. Easter, they call it. Something about Jesus rising from the dead and how that was to be celebrated. I never really paid much attention to religion, but Ranger Johns is a Christian, so he decided there'd be a service for all those who wanted to attend.

I skipped that, but did partake in the wine part. It was a thick red wine from somewhere north of The Boneyard. It hit hard and tasted like medicine as it went down but did the trick no less. The kitchen was cooking up a storm too, and everyone ate like it was their last. There were bighorner steaks, mashed potatoes, boiled up corn and fried yucca in quantities I hadn't seen before. Even the caravaneers got fed.

Afterwards, I decided to familiarize myself with my new desk and dug into the material that Esteban had left me. Johns stopped by and we went over the schedule for the morning. There'd be a briefing at 0800 with John and Bonneville to get the overview of our 'situation'. Mostly, I just want to figure out how we're going to get the rest of my people here, and when.

* * *

PT regimen started this morning and I rose early with Gomez for some hill sprints by the statues out front. My lungs were on fire, and I swore up and down I'd never smoke again but here I sit, smoking a cigarette as I write this. I suppose I'm getting old. Gomez took the hill with enthusiasm and I decided early on not to push it. It's going to be a long deployment, I need to get my wind back up.

Showered up and had some chow before the briefing. Green eggs with a side of hard bread, could be worse, at least it was a hot meal. Need to go about requisitioning a new rifle today and need to get Gomez settled in over at the infirmary before my 0800 briefing.


	9. Deployment - 9

**Ranger Outpost - Mojave**

It was five after ten when I'd finished with Major Bonneville and made it down the hall to Johns' office. Ranger Johns was a barrel chested spark plug of a man. He was stout as could be, and my lanky limbs loomed over him as I entered the room. It was the first time I'd seen him without a pair of aviators on his face. Age had caught up with Johns, and the crows feet around his eyes gave way to a pair of beady eyes. His round face was cropped by a tangled beard of rust colored hair that was peppered considerably with grey. I could smell the rawhide from the old worn out cowboy hat that clung to his head as I took a seat at the desk opposite his. The ham radio behind Johns squaked as the morning security detail took their posts. I lit a cigarette and watched as Johns pulled a couple of beers from his desk drawer.

"Drink up," he said, opening the bottles on the side of his desk before sliding one my way. I knew better than to protest. The beer was warm and sour and left a grit in my teeth.

"Always like to have a beer with my new guys. Liable to be the only gift you'll get from me so enjoy it." He let out a chuckle.

"Got your file here," Johns tapped one of the folders that sat on top of his desk,

"you were at Bitter Springs?"

"That's right," I nodded and took a pull from my cigarette.

"Ugly business, that." Johns folded his arms and leaned back in his seat.

"Lot of men turned tail after, good on you that you didn't. Shit happens in the Wasteland, shit that you gotta be able to let go of. Good to know we won't be having that problem." Johns tipped his bottle towards me with a nod.

"Camp Golf, in all of their wisdom picked us to bring some order back to the south western quadrant of the Wasteland. But, we can't well do that without your team here, can we?"

"You heard anything about their whereabouts?" I asked.

"Nothing definitive. Although McCarran expects a couple of convoys over the next few days, could be that they're part of one of em'. Thing is, Fox, we've got to clear these roads and get these caravans moving again. I can't well send you out on your own to get it done."

"I was going over the material Morales left me. Know anything about the gangs that seem to be mucking things up?" Johns stood from his desk, turning to the map that hung on the wall behind him, beer in hand.

"Run of the mill cannibals. Can't miss em', if you kill em'. Most got teeth filed down into sharp points, better to eat people with I suppose." Johns pointed to a grey structure on the maps,

"that there's the old highway patrol station. Lost some prized Crimson Caravan envoy down there and commands been jumpy on foot traffic since."

"Any idea what was so prized?" I asked.

"Who knows. It's political. Not our job to ask those kinds of questions. What we know is there's a bunch of em' down there. Five to ten, well armed, road is mined to hell. No one's getting north or south on the 15."

"And Nipton Road? 95? They've got that blocked off too." Johns pointed to another spot on the map.

"Some old ruins, half a days walk from Nipton. Another band of em' have taken to ambushes there. Same cannibal types, Weaker though, as far as we can tell. Could be that they started as one crew but for whatever reason split off. Thought that old Mayor over Nipton way would have taken care of the problem for us. But he sees fit to just close up the gates and wait em' out it seems."

"What about Bonneville's garrison? Seems to be more than enough manpower to mount an OP what with the security detail and the MP's. How many men can I raise?" Johns sat back down, leaning back in his chair he threw his feet up on his desk.

"That's just it, you're getting ahead of yourself, Fox." Johns drained the last of his beer and cracked another one. "Orders from Golf are to keep a standing force here at the outpost. Don't know why, other than keeping more eyes on the east."

"Caesar, this far east?"

"Not so far, but stranger things have happened. Bottom line is there's no extra manpower to muster, just you and that girl of yours."

"So, what," I said, lighting a fresh cigarette with the dying ember of my previous one,

"we just wait it out?"

"We have a bit of a unique situation that command has decided to use to its advantage," Johns let out a belch before continuing,

"we've got a whole mess of caravans just waitin' to get outta here. Command don't want them on the roads, bad press if we lose another. NCR needs the roads clear for a whole lot of reasons. So somebody looked at our mutual problems and came up with a solution. Escort."

"Escort?"

"Escort. Take a look around that courtyard out there and what do you see. Caravans? They're well armed, there's a bunch of em', and some of them are capable of punching a hole in the road for us."

"You just said brass thinks we can't risk it. Losing another."

"That's where ORD Charlie comes into play, Fox. You and that girl of yours need to get up to McCarran and get the rest of your crew, right? Only two ways north and both are plum-fucked at the moment. You take a caravan east up Nipton Road and punch up 95, everybody wins."

I looked at Johns then chewed on the filter of my cigarette. The thought of running a caravan up to Vegas, five days on the road, a million things could go wrong. "I'm supposed to be leading Rangers."

"And you will be, after you get to McCarran." Johns found a piece of paper underneath a stack of folders. It looked official, and he tapped his finger on it. "This comes straight from Golf. Besides, there's a caravan been chompin' at the bit to get on the road again. Got a full merc company as an escort."

I already knew the name, though, I wished it'd be different when he spoke.

"Find Francine Ponderosa, and her mercs. Get your soldier ready, you'll leave in the morning."


	10. Deployment - 10

**NCR Outpost - Mojave**

I found Gomez last night after chow nestled into her bunk, nose buried once more in her book. I read the cover this time as I sat down on my own bunk across from her, _The Sun Also Rises_. I said it out loud as I read it.

"You wouldn't like it," she said unflinchingly from behind the pages. She was in PT shorts and an NCR issued t-shirt, her legs stretched out on the bunk in front of her where small black hairs had started to sprout from her olive skin. Her hair was tied back in a neat pony tail that sat underneath an over-sized headlamp she was using to read that made her her look like a child in her parents things again.

"And what would you know about me, Corporal?" I said as I untied my boots.

"Enough to know you don't read love stories."

"Love story, is it?" I kicked off my boots and slid them under my bunk, "well, you're probably right."

I reached into the footlocker at the end of my bunk and pulled out the book that Morales had left me. I wanted to get a lay of the land before we set out in the morning, and Morales' map was filled with tactical notes and topographic adjustments.

"He does read," Gomez said, as I propped myself up against the wall.

"Only when your life depends on it." I pulled a cigarette from my front pocket, "get everything requisitioned for tomorrow?"

"If you mean stimpaks for when the bad guys punch holes in us, radaway for when one of those idiots drink out of a radioactive waste barrel, and some med-x so I can sleep while that infernal woman yaps on about her precious jewels. Then yes, you could say I'm all set."

"You've met the team, then." I lit my cigarette and took a long drag, hoping beyond hope that Ponderosa would be gone in the morning and the whole thing would blow over.

"Back home, when the NCR recruiter rolled through town and promised me a new life, I didn't imagine it would involve so much babysitting."

"You don't have to like it, Corporal. You just - "

"Have to do it. I know." She said, "the mission comes first."

"Right," I flipped through to the map, "never asked but, where's home, anyway?"

She paused for a long moment, then sighed, "The biggest little city in the world. New Reno, in all of its shit-stained glory. Like Vegas with all the shitty parts turned up a thousand percent. Haven't been back since I left for Shady Sands four years ago."

"Got family back there?"

"None worth giving a shit about." She closed her book and set it aside, "my parents, they were. Well. They weren't cut out to be parents, in the end."

"Sorry to hear it."

"Don't be. I'm not." She stood up and stretched letting out a yawn. Even on her tip-toes, she was shorter than the bunk. "They were addicts," she said casually, reaching for her ruck and tucking the book in carefully, "shitty thing realizing that your parents are junkies. Thing about addicts is, if you let em', they'll take you and everything you've got right down with them. A lot of people like that in life, actually. Sooner you figure it out, the better."

* * *

 **NCR Outpost - Mojave**

It was quarter till five this morning when I heard Francine Ponderosa wailing outside the shower stalls.

"Don't just stand there, fetch me some hot water." I was seventh in line. It was gonna be a long morning.

It didn't take long before the crowd grew restless. The stalls were there for public consumption, sure, but mainly for military personnel. The outpost itself wasn't equipped to handle the kind of influx of civilians that had accumulated over the past week, and as such, space and patience were running dangerously thin.

The man ran by who I can only describe as her handler. He was in the same three-piece suit and hat he'd been in at Lucerne and smelled it as he ran by. If he was off to find hot water, he was going to be sorely surprised to learn the Outpost was fed by excruciatingly cold mountain springs. Chances of hot water, zero percent. Plenty of irradiated cold, though.

I never saw her, but I am told that Francine was holding the line, letting all three stalls run 'just in case' one of the spigots were to spontaneously run hot. It didn't take long for the scuffle to unfold. I didn't see the act, the actual pissing, but I heard the exchange.

"Francine Ponderosa does _not_ take cold showers." She repeated her third-person mantra for all to hear, as if proclaiming it to some sort of desert-god who'd bless her with hot water. I looked around for some of Bonneville's MP's to sort things out, but none had surfaced. I didn't mind too much. After all, I wasn't going anywhere _without_ Francine. I Had my cigarette and a fresh cup of coffee, and this was mildly entertaining.

"You want something warm?" The young man shouted, one of Bonneville's security detail who was dangerously close to being late for his shift. The next thing I heard was screaming. Blood-curdling, I-just-got-my-hand-blown-off kind of screaming except she hadn't. Francine was out in a tear. Somewhere between the stall and the courtyard she'd lost her towel as she furiously swiped at herself to expel the young man's piss from her skin. The rest of the courtyard either laughed or hollered wildly. These were all either company men or hardened caravaneers, in their minds this was a victory, and a show. Francine danced for a moment, tiny breasts flapping in the wind ever so briefly before she realized she was naked. The look of horror on her face is something I won't soon forget.

Luckily, her handler was nearby and heard the commotion. The MP's were also all over it, and the young hero was soon escorted directly to Bonneville's office to a round of rousing applause from all. I took care not to clap, although the smile across my face was hard to hold back.

* * *

 **I-15**

I had intended on hitting the road by 0700 but Francine had not collected herself for several hours after. By the time we left the confines of the Outpost, it was near lunch already.

Liam and his guys had the basics of tactical movement down. Even the Greenhornes, Tommy and Rick, knew how to bound and wedge and keep their distance properly. Aside from Liam and the Greenhornes there were two others, a hulking man they simply called "Big," whose real name was Brock. He would nod and grunt and he carried what looked to be an older LMG, perhaps a Browning, and a large ammo can full of belt fed rounds. The other, Judd, was a much smaller, wiry type with long stringy hair and a bushy goatee who seemed to always have a cigarette burning. Judd's arms were pock-marked and covered in scars from chem use. He did the talking for Big when need be.

The quartermaster requisitioned me the mobile radio, SINCGARS, and headsets for Gomez and I. I got a crash course in programming the damn thing, took as many notes as I could but on the whole it seems overly complicated. Will sure be nice once we find my comms Ranger. The radio came with this big boom antennae to attach to "any structure on the high ground" in order to get radio signal to communicate with HQ. These things were notoriously bad at long range communications. Nevertheless, pretty useless with only two headsets. At least I'll be able to hear Gomez.

I also had to settle on a beat up old cowboy repeater that they had lying around. Peep sight is terrible, haven't zeroed it in, but at least it takes .357 so I'm not carrying two types of ammo. My ruck is heavy enough with this SINCGARS and field rations for five days.

We were two days out from Nipton, and about a day and a half from the ruined buildings Johns had indicated on the map. The plan was to break camp a safe distance from the ruins, then take a team to clear passage. Johns had made it clear that Francine would need to be protected at all costs, the NCR couldn't lose another convoy, especially one with an escort.

About an hour in, all of that went to shit.

Francine, still sporting the busted high heels she'd been wearing back at Lucerne, had now slowed to a limp. Her handler, loaded down with a giant pack and still sporting his suit, would carry Francine for a distance and we'd pick up pace, but even he appeared to have limits. Either way, this shit was not working.

"Hold up," I said, making my way back past Liam and the Greenhornes to the middle of our formation where Francine was. I was running point again, mainly out of necessity.

"This ain't gonna cut it." I pointed at Francine's shoes, "what's going on here?"

"Why ... nothing." Francine feigned surprise and shifted her weight with a slight grimace.

"Come on, you've been one legged this whole way. We've got a hundred-fifty miles to Vegas, and at this pace, we'd be lucky to get there by Christmas." I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, "you got some aversion to a pair of boots? This ain't no fashion show."

"I couldn't possibly ... A pair of _boots_? I'll have you know, Francine Ponderosa does _not_ wear boots. What would my client think? You do know what I do for a living, don't you?"

"How could I forget." I lit my cigarette and took a deep long pull. Francine went on.

"Francine Ponderosa only deals in the finest of jewels. Francine Ponderosa will not be dressed like some common wasteland filth." She spit the words out.

"You really have no fucking clue, do you?"

"No, Sir. You're the one who has no clue," Francine stepped closer and shoved a finger in my chest, "Francine Ponderosa could _ruin_ you. Francine Ponderosa could have you shoveling dirt -"

"Gomez," I grabbed Francine by the arm, "on me."

"W-what, what are you doing?" Francine looked frightened as she tried to pull away. My grip tightened. Her handler stepped forward, jaw clenched, seething glare boring into me. I felt their guns on me too, a few charging handles and hammers clicked and clacked. My .357 was in the handlers chest before he could step further forward.

"Step. Back." I saw the barrel of her pistol before I saw her. Gomez. She'd drawn on Francine, 9mm to the back of the head. Francine went stiff. The handler froze in place.

"What are y'all thinking?" I said, Francine's arm in one hand, revolver in the other, cigarette hanging from my lip. "Y'all are gonna kill me? Fine." I shoved Francine who slid across the cracked pavement. Her handler dove for her. I turned to Liam.

"You really want to do this?" my .357 was fixed on him now. I pulled back the hammer.

"Fox," Liam looked at his guys, then back at me.

"Right now, you're gonna have to make a decision. You know, we should have gotten this shit straight from the get go." I took another pull of smoke and bit down on the filter, "y'all aren't stupid. You're gonna have to decide whether money," I pointed towards Francine, "is more important to you than living. Simple as that. My job is to get you to Vegas ass-in-tact and there's a whole mess of trouble between here and there just waiting to jump up and bite us in the ass. You want to follow orders from her? Fine. I take mine from Chief Hanlon."

I honed in on Liam's good eye, my jaw was tight and I felt the vein in my right eyelid rise to the surface. Sweat began to bead on my forehead underneath my campaign hat. He looked down at Francine, her handler was helping her to her feet.

"You would do well to remember the agreement," she said brushing herself off, "you get paid _after_ I am delivered to Vegas. Unharmed. This man just laid a hand on me." She gestured wildly at Liam, her voice squeaked, urging him on, "Kill him. Francine Ponderosa does not need the NCR!"

I caught eyes with Gomez who fidgeted nervously with her pistol.

"Kill me and you're liable to go to prison." I turned back to Liam, "NCRCF, remember that place? Just down the road from here. Y'all won't do well in there, 'especially these two. Seems to me that Ponderosa here's just assaulted an officer. Anyone else catch that?"

"I did," Gomez steadied herself and drew on Francine once more.

"Seems to me also, that if Francine here threatens anyone again, I just might have to take her down to prison and lock her in myself. You got the zip ties, Gomez?"

"Sure do."

"Also, seems to me that if Francine doesn't follow through on the deal she made with you fellas, that's liable to get her a prison cell. So long as we all agree on what we saw here."

"Looks to me like she assaulted an officer. Plain as day." I watched as Liam lowered his rifle, he gave me a stiff nod.

"Same here," Judd chimed in, Big grunted.

"Me too," the Greenhornes said simultaneously.

"Good," I said, "Gomez, have a look at her feet and fix whatever it is. Get her some socks and your spare boots."

I reached in my pocket and lit another cigarette. "The rest of you, be ready to roll in five. Only been on the road an hour, It's gonna be a long fucking week."


	11. Deployment - 11

**I-15 & Nipton Road**

By the time we made checkpoint alpha, we were already five hours behind schedule. I had plotted waypoints all along the road north to Vegas. Alpha was at the base of the mountain the Outpost stood on, where the long 15 connects to Nipton Road. The NCR dubbed these roads by their service route numbers. The long 15 got the honor of being called MSR-1 and Nipton Road was MSR-6. The junction between the two was normally populated by passing travelers, maybe an NCR patrol or two, but tonight it was deserted.

It was pushing 2300 by the time we came upon an old shanty by the side of the road. Nothing more than corrugated metal propped up by the hulls of junked out cars, not much in the way of cover but it was something. There had been a time when people had lived there. The sides of the cars were black with carbon from fires burned out past. Spent needles and bottles littered the ground and sprawled on one of the slabs of sheet metal read the words _Fuck The NCR!_ The cars themselves both had interiors that were relatively intact. Liam ordered his guys to forego their bedrolls and sprawl across the benches and bucket seats while Francine looked on.

"Haven't slept on anything but this old cardboard," Liam said. Big was snoring before his head hit the bench seat, Judd climbed in with him passenger side. The Greenhornes took the other.

"B-but, where will Francine Ponderosa sleep?" She couldn't help herself. Francine had shut up long enough for Gomez to go to work on her foot and didn't make a peep as she stripped the top layer of a blister that had formed on the side of her foot. She even kept quiet as Gomez jabbed her with a stimpak and wrapped her foot in moleskine. Waste of a stimpak, I thought, but Gomez had insisted. She'd even been quiet most of the way aside from the occasional sigh or huff. Even if she was brooding and plotting her revenge, at least she'd kept the peace, until now.

"Bedroll," I said. "Like the rest of us common wasteland filth."

Liam and I plotted our over-watch positions while Francine and her handler did the bedtime routine they'd performed at Lucerne. Silk pajamas, silk sheets over the top of an old piece of cardboard.

"It's like this every night?" I asked.

"Yep," Liam nodded, "unless she can convince someone to give her a mattress. Which, hasn't worked yet. You know how charming she can be."

"What's his deal," I looked towards the handler, who was delicately spooning out small portions of dandy boy apples on a plate for Francine.

"Who, the freak?" Liam's face got dark, "fucking weird, man. I don't know what to tell you. Been with her since the beginning of the job. Bodyguard, I'd guess, but she's never said as much."

"Doesn't talk much, does he?"

Liam looked back down at the map, "hard to talk much without a tongue, I guess."

"God damn," I said, "no tongue? What do you mean?"

"I don't know man. One night, a few weeks back, we're all camped out kind of like we are now. Francine's all wrapped up in her silk, it's pretty quiet. I'm on over-watch, counting the stars, cracking my knuckles, just trying to keep my mind occupied when I hear this sound. Sounds like someone is creeping around, real slow steps." Liam looked over his shoulder then hunched down, motioning for me to come in close.

"So I see out of the corner of my eye something white, pale ass white." Liam was whispering now.

"So of course I draw my weapon, real quick, and there he is. The freak. Except he's not in his suit, he's not in anything, he's just standing there, naked."

"Naked?"

"Yeah. Butt naked. Which, I'd only ever seen him in that suit. Seemed like it was caked onto his body." I turned to make sure Gomez was still a safe distance away, Liam continued.

"And he turns and sees me. At this point, he's maybe like five feet away and he starts walking closer. Not creeping anymore, but just walking, casually. Like he's on a Sunday stroll. I start lining him up thinking, am I gonna have to shoot this fucker? He doesn't even flinch. It was like he was looking past me for a while. Then he just stops. Close. Like the distance from me to you, just stops. We're quiet for a while and I say 'what the fuck are you doing' and that's when he hissed."

"He hissed?"

"Like a snake. Opened his mouth real wide and hissed. That's when I noticed he didn't have a tongue."

"God damn." I said, "then what?"

"Well, he stood there for another few seconds, his eyes real wide. Angry like. And then he started shaking. At this point I am looking at him like what the fuck. Then I start noticing all these scars, tons of them. I didn't even see them at first because there were so many they just kind of blended in." I looked over Liam's shoulder at the handler who was now intently watching Francine eat.

"What kinds of scars, cuts, burns?" I asked

"All kinds, torture type shit. _Legion_ type shit." Liam scratched at his eye patch, "you know what I mean, you've seen it."

"Yeah," I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, "so you two stand there, he just goes away?"

"Kind of. Well … I mean, it gets weirder. I noticed something else when I looked down. No fucking dick, no balls, just a nub where his piping should be. Someone has castrated this guy." Liam made a chopping motion with his hand, "No wonder he's fucking angry."

"Never known Legion to castrate." I said, taking a drag, "sounds like some fucked up shit. Legion would have just killed him. Why go through the trouble?"

"Me neither, but I don't know. Who else? The only other thing I noticed was a tattoo. Right along his chest. Real crude. It was a series of numbers. Made me think of cattle."

"Cattle?"

"Yeah. You know how ranchers label brahmin and big horners to keep track of them? Just seemed similar to me."

"Who else knows?"

"Knows what? About the tongue? All my guys do. I don't think anyone knows about the other stuff, though. I didn't say shit. Not a lot of things scare me, but he does."

* * *

 **I-15 & Nipton Road**

I left Liam with Gomez's set of NVG's for his overwatch position south of our camp. Liam would rotate his guys in and out every four hours until our rendezvous back at camp around 0700. We agreed he'd keep what he knew about the handler quiet, at least until I could figure out what the hell was happening. Not that there was anything to figure out. Slaves were common, illegal, but common. I'd already threatened Francine with the law, not much good it would do now, at least until we got to Vegas. Still, there was something not right about the whole thing. _Tattoo. Cattle._

My overwatch was north and east of camp, closer to the ruined buildings which would be our target tomorrow. Gomez came along, against my wishes, but I felt better having her close than near a bunch of well-armed folks I'd just threatened. As much as I thought I could trust Liam, I didn't trust any of his crew, and Francine even less.

I brewed a cold cup of instant coffee, (no fires, too risky) and settled in as Gomez setup her bedroll.

"How'd you know?" She asked, fiddling with the straps of her ruck.

"How'd I know what?" I was trying to get a lay of the land through my NVG's, squinting into the bright green wastes.

"How'd you know they weren't going to shoot you back there?" Her voice was terse.

"I didn't know."

"Well," she stood and stripped off her body armor, "next time you feel like you wanna get us killed, let me know so I can see my way out of it."

"You did good today, Corporal." I said, setting my back against a rock. It was stiff as a board, and my knees ached something fierce as I tried to relax. I was tired, but there'd be no sleep tonight.

"Right." She huffed, "I stood there like a bump on a log waiting for one of those fuckers to put one in my back."

"You covered me, that's important." I took a sip of cold coffee, the metallic taste bit hard on my tongue.

"You might not agree with everything I do." I said, "hell, you may not agree with any of it. But you did the right thing in following orders."

Gomez was quiet for some time while she fussed with her bedroll. When she'd finally got it settled she zipped the sides and laid down for the night.

"Still can't believe I had to give that bitch my boots." She said, half chuckling into the night air.

"They said you fuckers were crazy when I volunteered for this gig. I'm starting to think they were right."

With that, I smiled. For tonight, though, I had an OP to plan.


	12. Deployment - 12

**I-95 & Nipton Road**

When morning came and it was light enough, I built a small cook fire to heat up some more coffee. The smell of the percolator must've woken Gomez, and before long she emerged from her bedroll and ambled up to me hair stuck to her face, bleary-eyed. We shared a cup of coffee in silence. The kind of silence only a Mojave sunrise could bring where the cool breeze hits you just right. I had just lit a cigarette when Gomez spoke,

"What were you doing all night?" She asked, stifling a yawn, "anything happen while I was out?"

"Nothin', just me and the critters." I opened the only breakfast MRE I'd grabbed from the quartermaster's office, rolled oats, and dumped some water into the heater bag, "all quiet back there too." I nodded towards camp, Gomez scoffed at that.

"If it was quiet," she said between sips of coffee, "it was only because you couldn't hear her. Rest assured that woman is probably driving the rest of them crazy by now."

"True enough."

"So, what's the plan today?" She asked, reaching into her ruck to consider her options, "hmm, lets see, beef ravioli, beef ravioli or beef ravioli … Guess that makes for an easy choice then."

"I thought about it. I don't think we can leave Francine behind, not for this."

"Risky," she said, "you think she's any good in a gunfight?"

I took a pull from the smoke and flicked a head of ash into the breeze. "Who said anything about a gun fight?"

"We're acting on good intel, right?"

"Old intel," I pulled the oats from the heater, "no guarantee we'll find a molerat down there, let alone a whole pack of cannibals."

"Still. Seems risky. Even for you. Francine gets popped, seems like that might complicate things. My money's on her being the first one to go."

"That's just it Corporal," I turned to her, "I'm gonna need her well away from the shit if it does go down." She lowered her head, expectantly.

"And I'm gonna need you keepin' an eye on her, make sure she's alright and not haulin' ass away from us."

"More babysitting." Gomez ripped the top off of her ravioli and shoved a few squares in her mouth, "what happens if I need to do my real job, you know, the one they pay me for?"

"You don't come anywhere near us till the fightin's done."

Gomez shot a breath of air from her nose and smirked, "say you go down there and find exactly what intel says," she scooped another few squares in, "you're gonna need my gun."

"Them boys look like they can handle themselves." I said, "plenty of firepower between the five of them."

"Them boys," Gomez wiped her mouth with her sleeve, "look _green_. Probably never been shot at a day in their lives. More likely to piss their pants than be of any use."

"Liam's seen enough for two lifetime's. Judd and that big fella seem the right type. The Greenhornes, well … This ain't a discussion anyways, Corporal. This is the plan."

"Alright," she said, "your call."

* * *

 **Checkpoint Bravo**

It was 1000 when we reached the rendezvous point, half a click out of the ruins. If all went to shit, we'd meet back here.

"Alright, drop your rucks." I said, "want to be as light as possible when we get up there. Meds and ammo, only."

I called in a quick SITREP to the Outpost while the others got kitted out. We pulled the rucks into a tight formation underneath a berm by the side of the road. I mounted the portable antennae on top. Johns was barely audible on the other end, I thought I heard something about my lost Rangers, something about McCarran, but I couldn't be sure. I carried on and called in our coordinates, Johns didn't respond. God damn radio. If things really went to shit, Gomez could call in a mayday and Johns would hopefully send a search and rescue party, if he could afford to mount the men.

I left Gomez with the other comms headset and she slid a couple of stimpaks into the strap on my vest.

"Stick em' where it hurts, sir," she said.

"You just keep a close eye on these two. We'll be back soon."

I felt a tinge of anxiety as I dumped a box of .357 rounds into the pocket on my vest. I went over the plan in my mind over and over and thought about all the different ways things could go wrong. The damn cowboy repeater I'd picked up hadn't been zeroed, I didn't know if I could hit the broadside of a barn much less a target down range and the peep sight wa a bear to use. My peacemaker was still with me though, Colt, single-action .357. The notches told the story of the hard times we'd been through together. I thought back to last deployment, the people I'd killed, and wondered if this one would be over before it even began.

We split into two teams. I took the Greenhornes, dubbed fire team alpha and sent Judd and Big with Liam as fire team bravo. There were two structures, one north and one south of where the road split them. We would swing north, where a large billboard would hopefully cover our approach enough to get us in close. Ideally, I would have planned a night OP, but with only two sets of NVG's it would have been impossible. I had hoped whoever was in those buildings wouldn't have the northern approach covered. If they had, we'd be sitting ducks with no cover in the middle of a dry lakebed. In the end it didn't matter anyways.

The plan had us, alpha, conduct a sweep operation of the structure north while bravo took south. The approach was quiet as we bounded through the lakebed, trying to cover as best we could in case somebody had seen us coming. We made the billboard without incident, but that's where the trouble began.

I decided we'd cover bravo's approach to the building south. There were definitely cook fires burning nearby, the smell of smoke and burning meat was in the air, and my haunches were up as Liam, Judd and Big bounded for their building. Someone was definitely nearby. This didn't feel right.

That's when I heard it, that sickening sound. Two clicks. Frag mine.

The concussion from the blast hit hard, and before I knew it, I was on my ass. I looked up realizing my rifle was gone, must have been jangled from my arms in the blast. My ears were ringing, I swallowed hard and then there was a thump, then two more. It took a moment for the object to come into focus, I squinted hard, trying to get my footing back under me.

It was a leg, _someone's fucking leg_. Flayed tendons sprouting out of a severed kneecap. The stench of burning flesh wafted in the air.

I turned to find the Greenhornes. Gomez was in my ear,

"what's going on, anyone hit?" One of the Greenhornes was behind me, eyes wide, mouth open, that shell shocked look on his face. The blast had blown his helmet off which made me realize my hat was missing as well. He had his rifle though, that was good. Was it Tommy or Rick? It didn't matter. I looked him in the eyes,

"You still with me?" I asked, grabbing him by the shoulder. He blinked and his mouth quivered but nothing came out. My ears began to clear.

"Get your helmet on," I shouted, "and get to cover." I pointed to the billboard. The blast had only knocked us back a couple of feet. That seemed to register. He nodded. As my ears cleared I realized that we were being shot at. Bullets cracked through the air like a whip kicking up dirt from the pavement to my left. I thought I heard the sounds of a return volley from where Liam's group was supposed to be, but I pushed that thought away. Surviving a blast like that was not likely, I had to take care of my guys on this side.

I began to look for the other Greenhorne, Gomez still pressed on in my ear.

"Screw it, I'm on my way," she said.

"You stay put, corporal." The bullets were still flying. I couldn't see shit beyond the billboard, and I had a passing thought that someone might pop around the corner and kill us all rather easily. I decided to forego my rifle and pulled my .357 from its holster.

Peering down the berm I saw the other Greenhorne. Tommy or Rick? I couldn't remember. He was pressed up hard against a rock clutching his rifle.

"Come to me," I motioned towards him. He considered me, then looked at the lake bed. I knew what was going through his mind, I'd seen it before.

"You run, they'll kill you," I shouted. I looked back at the other Greenhorne who'd managed to get himself back into position. Bullets pounded the billboard behind me and tiny pieces of splintered wood rained down. I made my way down the berm and held out my hand.

"Lets go," I looked him in the eyes, trying to be firm, calm. He was shaking as he began to scramble away from me. He was breaking for it.

"I-I c-c-can't," that's all he said before he stood up to run. _Fuck_. All I could do was watch. Bullets danced around his feet as he took off. I moved up the berm and peered around the opposite end of the billboard. _Where are they?_ I looked for a muzzle flash but didn't see any. There's no time. I ran to where the other Greenhorne was and peaked around, still nothing. _God damnit._

The firing intensified for a moment, then stopped. I looked out on the lake bed, he had almost made it to cover. They hooted and hollered in celebration from behind the building.

"Die! Die! Die!" They yelled, "woo-hoo, still got all his limbs, he gonna be tasty."

Gomez was in my ear, "what the fuck is going on?"

"Stay. Put." I whispered.

They began to emerge from the buildings, one by one. I made my way to the Greenhorne and pulled him back behind the billboard.

"F-fuck, they got Rick," he said. I put a finger to my lips,

"Quiet," I mouthed, he nodded. I counted eight in total but there could have been more. They made their way towards where the mine detonated. They slung rifles and shotguns over their shoulders sporting patchwork metal armor strung together with chains that dangled when they walked.

"What we got here," they bent down, examining what remained of Judd, Big and Liam.

"Told you them mines was a bad idea," one said.

"Shut up. Plenty ah meat left. Start pickin' through, you'll see." They fanned out, faces close to the ground. They were a scraggly bunch, covered in dirt and grime. One had a basket of sorts, a woman in a set of armor that covered just about everything save her breasts. They plucked a flayed arm from beneath an old truck tire.

"This one a big feller," one said, dragging the arm and dumping it in the basket. I could hear Tommy breathing behind me, shuddering with every breath. I gripped my .357.

"We got a breather," I heard one call out to the others. He was behind one of the makeshift brick walls of the south building. The others began to migrate towards him.

"Oooo-weee, fresh meats the best kind."

"Even if it does only got one eye. Ain't that right pah?"

Fuck. _They've got Liam._

"Awww, eyes is the best part."

"Well he done got one still. Probly two more on that fellar out that-a-way."

"You mean that one we shot up."

"That one I shot up."

"It don't matter who shot who. One ah yous better go get em'."

It was the woman they sent. I watched as she approached heading straight for our cover, shotgun at the ready. I looked at Tommy, holstered my pistol and put my finger to my lips once more.

"Quiet," he mouthed back and nodded as I pulled the knife from my chest sheath. I closed my eyes and honed in on her footsteps and let training takeover. My heart slowed as I controlled my breathing. In and out. In and out. Her footsteps drew closer. Tommy shifted behind me. I had done this a thousand times before, this one would be no different. Breathe in and out.

I opened my eyes, she was there now, Tommy had his gun on her but it didn't matter. The Ranger takedown is quick and effective. She landed with a clang as her armor bounced against the ground. I was on her in a second, knife at the ready. She only had a moment to look at me and stifle a whimper before I plunged into her jugular. She fought me with her hands but the knife went in easy and I fashioned a quick twist of the handle to really open things up. She squirmed as bright red blood shot out of the jagged wound. Dirty, sticky hands grabbed at my face. She dug her nails into my neck, and tore at my skin.

"Shhh," I whispered as I struck again, this time taking my free hand and placing it over her mouth. I felt as the knife ripped through muscle to the bone with a crunch. I pushed hard now, clenching my jaw. _Die bitch_. Her eyes were wide now, bloodshot and blue. She gurgled at first, filed down teeth desperate for air, death gurgle. With one last body twitch she went limp, then it was over.

With some effort I pulled the knife from her throat. My hands were steady now, I felt good, calm even. I looked at Tommy as I sheathed my knife, her blood dripping from my day old scruff. In the distance I heard some hooting then a scream. If Liam was going to survive, we had to act fast.

"Ready to do this?" I asked, wiping the blood away with the back of my hand. Tommy nodded.

"Let's roll."


	13. Deployment - 13

**Checkpoint Bravo**

"What do we do?" Tommy asked. I took a deep breath in, trying to remember the schematics of the map. I peeked back around the corner to see if any had taken notice to my violent scuffle with the woman. There were two of them, busy prying another piece of flesh from the rusted out truck, their backs were to us. The rest must have been behind the building, I could still hear them, probably preparing Liam to roast.

The woman was carrying a 12 gauge pump action that I had commandeered. A full tube of buckshot should be enough to thin them out, but I'd have to get up close and personal. I quickly scribbled a note:

2 KIA

1 WIA

1 UNKOWN

WIA TAKEN PRISONER

MYSELF AND 1 FRIENDLY ATTEMPTING RESCUE

7 OPFOR / 1 OPFOR KIA

-RANGER FOX

I ripped the piece of paper from my notepad and handed it to Tommy,

"If all goes bad, you run like hell for the exfil point." I said, "give this to Gomez and have her call it into the Outpost. Then the two of you hightail it back there."

"I'll draw them out," I said. There was a bottleneck between the building and the truck. If I caused enough ruckus, they'd surely come running.

"You know how to shoot this thing, right?"

"Y-yes Sir." Tommy nodded.

"Good. You pop whoever comes runnin' around that corner."

I reached for a cigarette and bit down on the filter. The skin on my face felt tight underneath the layer of dried blood as I took in a pull. Behind us, in one last gift to the world the woman had released her bowels. I grimaced as the smell of shit wafted up through her armor. I peeked around the corner one last time, they had almost freed the chunk of flesh they were after, it was time to move.

I pulled the .357 from its holster and gave Tommy a pat on the shoulder,

"Ready?" He nodded.

I paused for a moment at the edge of the billboard. My mouth was dry and I could feel the sweat beading down my sideburns and forehead. There was a heaviness to the revolver in my hands, and for the shortest of moments a sharp pang of doubt rang through my head.

My nerves were screaming at me as I rushed the men by the truck. The tingling of adrenaline urged me forward as I looked down the sights of the .357. I fired, squeezing off round after round until they'd splayed to the ground.

I slid in close, pulling the shotgun around. I had to move, _quick_. The first one went quietly, the second one pleaded.

"Ranger," he said, "Ranger." I put my foot on his chest as he grabbed at the barrel of the shotgun. "Ranger." It was a clean death, one pump, one pull, better than he deserved.

There were shots, the pop of 5.56, Tommy was firing. I pushed up against the truck, everything thick with gore, bits of skull, grey brain matter. Up close, I could see the flesh they were pulling at, it was Big, the blast had blown his body into the engine block and underneath the truck. His face was half burned away, just bone and nasal cavity locked in distress.

More shots, bullets pinged off the edge of the billboard as Tommy took cover. I looked over the hood of the truck to where I thought Liam might be. There were two of them taking pop shots from behind the wall, more were circling my side of the truck, one had Big's LMG.

I turned to head them off. They were flanking Tommy, I thought, and I would ambush them around the side of the truck. I waited, gripping the shotgun, one shell left. That's when the LMG opened up.

Tommy hit the deck as a barrage of bullets hammered the ground around him. Was he hit? The LMG rang like a buzzsaw, casings jangled off the sides of the truck. They were right there, just on the other side, inches away.

Another pang of doubt hit as I leaned against the truck. I wished I was away, _anywhere but here_. I saw Carlita for the briefest of moments before I pushed her away. My stomach bottomed out as another wave of adrenaline shot through my body. I crouched low, ready to spring up when the shooting stopped.

"I'm out," is all I heard as I stood, shotgun at the ready. I fired once into the gunner at close range, his head taking the brunt of the shell collapsed in on itself as he fell back. The other was crouched in cover, he looked at me, hesitation on his face. I tossed the shotgun away, drawing my .357 and pulled back on the hammer, clearing my chamber.

"There's two of em," I heard the shouts, "Rangers!"

They were running.

I flicked open the chamber and let the casings fall. Tommy was up again, he'd survived, rifle at the ready. I reached into my pocket for more rounds and watched as Tommy took shots at the runners. They were bolting across the road when the first one dropped. The second only made it as far as the lake bed before he was down as well, just feet from where Rick's body lay.

Tommy and I found the last one inside the north building, pistol drawn, clutching Liam. They were backed up against a pile of old rubber tires. Behind them, meat-hooks hung dripping with humans remains. The walls were covered in glyphs and messages scrawled in blood.

"Don't come any closer, man … Or I'll kill em'."

Liam was fucked up, but alive. The shrapnel had done a number on his torso and his legs were in bad shape. They'd yanked off his eyepatch too, just a skin covered socket remained. Liam groaned and spit, rolling his good eye towards me,

"Fuck it," he managed to say.

"I'm serious," the man tightened his grip around Liam's neck, digging the barrel of the pistol into his head. I heard Tommy gag. The air was thick with rotting flesh.

"Alright," I said, "I'll holster my iron."

"What?" Tommy said.

"You too," I put my hand up, "we're puttin' our weapons down."

"Good," the man said. I could see his teeth when he spoke, filed down into sharp points. He twitched, his eyes darting between Tommy and I.

"The way I see it, there's only one way we're all gettin' outta here alive." I said, pulling a cigarette from my pocket. "And that's if we can get you the help you need."

"Help?" He wiped at his nose, "I don't _need_ help. Especially no f-f-f-uckin' NCR help."

"You see, this was all one big misunderstanding." I took a drag, "you want a smoke?" He considered my cigarette for a while. "No? Well Tommy'll have one wont you?"

"Yes Sir." I tossed him a smoke.

"So where was I. Right, a misunderstanding." I took another drag,

"You see, the New California Republic knows all about the dangers of drugs and the effects it can have on one's psyche. We've got a rehabilitation facility, just down the road here for folks like yourself to help you get back on your feet after certain … lapses in judgement."

"I ain't going to no fuckin' jail," he pulled the gun in tighter, his finger was on the trigger. Liam groaned.

"It ain't a jail, it's a rehabilitation center." I moved my hand to my pistol, resting it there, "do you really think this'll end well for you? You kill my friend there, we kill you. You're outnumbered here, think about it."

"You'll fuckin' kill me anyways," he said, "soon as I stand up."

"No, no. You have my word on that. It's a simple procedural thing. You'll be our prisoner for a time. Then we'll take you up to the Outpost and get you cleaned up. Hot meal, shower, all of that."

"Your word." He looked to Tommy then back to me, "he gave me his word, you heard that." He pointed the pistol at Tommy.

"Whoa now." I said, "just put the gun down and let us get our friend some treatment. Sound alright?"

He paused a moment, looking and me then Tommy. Liam had closed his eye and was breathing long, labored breaths. I inched closer, my right hand on my pistol, left hand extended to receive.

"Just give me the gun and we'll settle this business right now."

I took the gun from his hand slowly, acutely aware of the barrel pointed directly at my face. I looked him in the eye, I could see him twitch, considering.

"Secure the prisoner," I said to Tommy, "take him out front and don't let him move."

I keyed up Gomez, "get down here Corporal. Doubletime. We've got wounded."


	14. Deployment - 14

**Checkpoint Bravo**

The shadows had grown long as the sun slipped down the Sierra Nevada's. I watched as the prisoner struggled with Rick's body, huffing and hawing as he dragged him up the berm. I let the cigarette on the end of my lips burn, the smoke dancing in the twilight. I held my .357 at the ready giving my captive a visual reminder of what disobedience might look like.

Gomez had been to work on Liam for some time now. They were in the north building. Tommy had helped her set up a makeshift treatment area after clearing out the decaying flesh that hung from the hooks on the walls. I watched her work for a time. She stuck a tube down his throat and tasked Tommy with squeezing the bag every so often. I told them I'd be back to takeover in a while, me and the prisoner had work to do.

The bodies were lined up by the side of the road. I made him strip the ones we'd killed. The woman was the worst of all. The smell of defecation commingled with her coagulated blood and had collected into a cesspool of sorts inside of her armor. The prisoner gagged and wretched but got the job done all the same with a little coercing.

Francine had one look at the bodies and decided she'd need to stay as far away as possible. She couldn't stand to look at me when we spoke. Guess I wasn't all that much to look at. I was aware of the blood on my face, hands, arms, I tasted it with every swig from the canteen. I pointed her in the direction of the south building. Its roof had collapsed and was nothing but four walls and debris, but it got her the hell away from me for the time being. She started to complain about deadlines, but I suppose the look I shot her was enough to send her on her way.

Rick laid on the opposite side of the road next to an arm that belonged to Big. The rest of Judd and Big were too embedded in the truck to pry out without tools. I considered making the prisoner do it anyways, but with the sun going down it was about time to get on with the dirty business.

He stood, dripping in sweat as he finished lining Rick up just right parallel to Big's remains.

"Boy," he said, "I sure hope this rehab center of yours don't have no hard labor." He laughed, nervously. We were on joking terms now, that was good.

"Smoke?" I asked, handing him a cigarette. He took it and pressed it to his lips. I gave him a light.

"Thanks," he said. "Ya know, it was really Pah's idea to setup shop here like this. Used to be we were part of another group, over t'other side of ninety-five there."

"Oh yea," I said, "whereabouts?"

"Oh you know, over by that old patrol station." He took a drag with a twitch, "Pah got sick ah them, though. That's why we come up here, see if we could do things different on our own."

"And was it?"

"Different? Well yeah, it was. They got all these rules over there, like an order of how to do things, you see? Pah didn't like no rules."

"How'd that work out for you? The no rules part?"

"It was great for a while," he paused of a moment, "I mean, of course I had my objections and all. But like you said, I was under the influence most of the time."

"Go on."

"It really ain't like you seen inside over there. We mostly had to do our own huntin', just set them mines out in case anyone happens upon us. May as well not let the meat go to waste, no offense. We was just tryin' to get by, you know?"

"Get by …" I said, "What about all that shit y'all wrote on the walls in there?"

He took another drag and pondered that, "Pah had some ideas about things. I want to say we was more of a religious group, but only some of us felt that kind of way. You see, Pah thought God wanted us to do things. Said he heard voices and whatnot."

"Voices," I said, "damn, no wonder he had y'all confused."

"See, I knew I could trust you, man. You got a trustworthy face you know? Anyone ever tell you that? God damn man, and here they say them Rangers chew nails and spit napalm." He grinned a big stupid fucking grin. His jagged teeth glistened in the dying light.

"Can't say I've heard that." I felt the grooves of my pistol, "say, why don't you get out of all that armor. I gotta get up I'm gonna need you to put on anyways, before we get you to the Outpost."

"Aww, man. But I'm not that kinda girl. You gonna at least buy me dinner first." He laughed again. "Really, though. You ain't no faggot or nothin', right?"

"Don't matter if I was," I said, "just us and the critters."

He stripped off the makeshift armor. Metal pieces falling into a neat pile at his feet. He was rail thin, gaunt almost, as he took with his hands covering himself.

"Alright man, lets see this get up."

"Hey, you know. I'm curious, which one is Pah?"

He turned and looked over his shoulder.

"Yea man, he's that one there. Owww weee, you got him good. Ain't even got a head …"

When he turned my .357 was waiting for him, one shot was all it took. I watched as the bullet cracked his head back. His body craned and folded as he collapsed to the dirt. I fired twice more to the chest for good measure.

I reached down and took the burning cigarette from his fingers, his gaze was fixed on me, stupid shit-eating grin. I took a drag.


	15. Deployment - 15

**Checkpoint Bravo**

I sat with my back against the wall, wiping the blood and dirt from my face as the night sky rolled in. It was darker than usual, and before long the bodies of the dead were masked in the cover of night. My mind wandered for a while in the quiet. I thought about the woman I'd killed, that little gasp of air before the knife plunged into her throat. The man, all his talk of 'Pah' and God, his body still warm in the night air. I pondered it for a while, what makes one follow, the ambiguity of morals, religion, all of it.

I heard her footsteps before I saw her.

"You coming back in anytime soon?" She asked. I sat silent for a while, reeling my mind back into place. I was tired, so goddamn tired.

"Soon."

"Come on," she reached down and grabbed my hand. "Lets get you cleaned up." It was an odd sensation, a hand. Hers was more delicate than I thought it'd be. Smooth and soft. She led me inside, a cook fire burned in the corner by a punched out window. Tommy sat at the head of the makeshift gurney, rifle perched across his lap, one hand on the bag attached to the tube jutting from Liam's throat. Liam had turned almost grey, alive, but grey.

"Come here," she said, "let me help you with that." She undid the straps, pulling the vest over my head. It was stained, the ranger patch on the left shoulder had turned a rust color. "Sit."

The rag was cold as she worked it over my face, smooth strokes interspersed with bit of scrubbing. Gomez was a silhouette, shrouded by the light of the fire. The way her hair fell she almost looked like Carlita in this light. She stopped at the scratches in my neck.

"These look bad."

The alcohol burned. She taped the gauze on and ran a finger of two along the back of my neck. I closed my eyes. It felt like Mom, like I was back inside that tiny apartment in the bath with my brother. She'd sing, Mom, these little made up tunes where she'd insert our names here and there until we giggled. I closed my eyes and tried to picture it, _I wanted_ to picture it. I was running in that field behind the little blue schoolhouse, Mrs. Webster yelling for us. Adam was in front of me, the California summer had turned his hair golden and his skin brown, I could still see him perfectly. _Dex, Junior, don't make me call your mother_.

"Can you sing?" I didn't even know why I was asking. My eyelids were heavy, _was I dreaming?_ I needed to stay awake.

"You need to sleep"

She was right, I knew. The words sat in my head for a while, slowly computing.

"Coffee," my eyes wouldn't open. _Just a nap_. I sunk in and invited the darkness, if only for a little while.

* * *

 **Checkpoint Bravo**

"Charlie One, this is Papa Bear, relief element needs at least fourty-eight hours to reach your position," Johns crackled over the radio as I squinted into the afternoon sun, "meat wagon should be there before then. Over."

The meat wagon. The NCR's code name for the mortuary affairs unit. After any KIA, either friendly or foe, we'd call in an order to the meat wagon. They were professionals in the truest sense, although strange hardly began to describe them. You'd hear them rattling down the road in giant flatbeds outfitted with a mounted .50 cal and pseudo-trailers that could hold dozens of litters. They step out covered head to toe in bio-hazard suits, nary a word said to anyone.

It was our job to label the bad guys and the good guys appropriately. There was a system. Bad guys were typically stripped head to toe, their armor often times re-purposed by the NCR. Whether they'd melt down armor or simply reuse it was anyone's guess. The important part though, was to always mark the forehead with an "X". They'd stack the naked bodies in the trailer, strapping them to the litters with tie downs. What they did with the bodies was often the topic of many rumors and campfire stories. Some believed there was a secret location in the Mojave where giant fires would burn in an incinerator. Others thought they'd re-purpose the bodies, selling them to the highest bidder or even grinding up the human flesh for use in the dining halls.

Our guys got much better treatment. All NCR personnel were issued a wool blanket for use in the field. One side was blank and the other had the letters "NCR" stenciled into it. If a trooper had been killed, it was our job to drape the blanket, "NCR" letters up, over the body. The meat wagon would come and load each trooper individually and the NCR would find a way to get the bodies back home. Most ended up at Soldiers Cemetery in Shady Sands where they'd be interred with dignity. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was there too, guarded around the clock.

Friendlies were marked with an "F" and bundled with their personal effects. The meat wagon would deliver them to a processing station where some poor soul sorted through their personal effects to notify next of kin.

There was a form for all of this, of course, we'd fill it out and send it to McCarran monthly along with the other stacks of forms that would accumulate. I always wondered what happened at McCarran. Were there sets of soldiers flipping through stacks of carbon copies, filing away neatly into a giant archive somewhere?

"Papa Bear, this is Charlie One. Forty-eight hours," I said, "we don't have that long. Over."

Gomez had made it clear that Liam was fading fast. It was anyone's guess exactly how long he'd hold out without some attention from a surgeon.

"Charlie One, that's as fast as they can safely move, over." His voice went in and out as I canted the antennae towards the direction of the outpost. My arms burned as I sat on the roof, tilting and turning the apparatus this way and that way as the wind kicked.

"Papa Bear, can you confirm medical is part of the element? Our casualty is fading fast, over."

"That's affirmative, Charlie One."

"Papa Bear, can you also advise mission objective now that checkpoint Bravo is cleared, over." Francine had pestered me earlier in the day. "Deadlines," she'd kept saying over and over.

"Standby for orders, Charlie One. Settle in, may be awhile. Papa Bear, out."


	16. Deployment - 16

**Checkpoint Bravo**

I leaned back in my lawn chair and watched from the rooftop as the meat wagon came rumbling down MSR-6 from the east. I could almost see clear to Nipton through my binoculars, and I followed their path until they stopped between the buildings beneath me. Gomez and Tommy were inside, tending to Liam who had gotten worse overnight. Gomez fed him med-x every couple of hours to keep him out. I wondered where the team from the Outpost was. No radio traffic on the frequency we'd agreed to as of yet, suppose they weren't close enough.

They dismounted. There were four of them, covered head to toe in bright yellow bio-hazard suits. There was a fifth who sat stationary on a .50 cal turret that was mounted atop the truck. In the corner of my eye I saw movement.

"A truck," _Francine_ , "quickly, get our things. They've sent us a truck!" Her handler went sprinting back into the ruins that were the north building.

"Francine, don't … " I shouted, but her wispy frame was already running towards the meat wagon.

"Step back, citizen," a metallic voice called out from under a re-breather as the soldier on the .50 cal pulled its giant charging handle back. _Click-clack_

"Francine, you don't want to … " I was already scrambling for the ladder. I'd never heard anyone from the meat wagon speak before, I didn't know what they were like to do with someone trying to commandeer their vehicle.

"Mind your tongue. You will not talk to Francine Ponderosa that way," she yelled as I took the pegs on the side of the building to the ground, "Francine Ponderosa is _the Icon of The Hub, the Jewel of the West_."

They shuffled around her to the back of their trailer and flung open the doors with a squeak. One of them had already begun examining the bodies laid out, clipboard in hand. The one on the .50 followed Francine with the barrel as she paced shortly behind.

"Francine, might I have a word?"

"Don't you put your hands on me," she threatened, as I approached, "when are we leaving? Francine Ponderosa can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams - "

"These boys ain't like to listen," I said, reaching for her arm, "now just calm down before anyone gets jumpy."

She pulled away, "aren't you listening? I _said_ I can make you rich … I can also ruin you." She managed to grab the man with the clipboard, I could see the cords in her neck, they were standing over the man I'd shot yesterday.

The .50 came alive and cracked three rounds through the air just above our heads.

"Citizen, step back. Now!" The gunner called out from the truck.

"Get over here," I lifted her off the ground in a bear hug as the man with the clipboard shrugged her off. She struggled, kicking her feet wildly. The smell from her blazer was intense up close, like vinegar and rotted fruit. I saw Gomez emerge from the south building, pistol drawn. I gave her a quick reassuring nod as I dragged Ponderosa away.

"You will rue the day, _rue_ the day you crossed Francine Ponderosa." She went on as I shoved her back between the ruined walls of the north building. Her handler was shuffling out, sacks over his shoulders. We caught eyes briefly, I tapped the handle of my pistol and raised an eyebrow.

"Lets get something straight here," I said. I reached into my pants pocket, my cigarettes were running dangerously low but I couldn't bear the thought of dealing with Francine without one. "There's only one way you're gettin' on that truck and that's if you're lined up next to them dead ones out there."

Francine scoffed, "unbelievable. It's as if you people aren't taking this seriously. I've got _deadlines_ to keep - "

"Oh it's plenty serious," I said. "In fact, I'd love to help you fulfill this death-wish of yours, but for now you're still my responsibility accordin' to the NCR."

"NCR," she said, mockingly, "we'd be halfway to Vegas by now if not for this little stunt you've pulled. Is this was the NCR does? Get everyone blown up? So much for safe passage."

I felt my heartbeat rise as I bit down on the filter of my smoke. I took a deep breath before I continued. "You're walkin' on some mighty thin ice as is." I said, "you'd do well to quit your arguin' and learn to listen to people. You can't go runnin' out grabbin' at people with guns."

"Why not," she said, "you all think you're the law out here? You threaten me, say you're going to arrest me and take me to some prison because I assaulted _you_. Well guess what? You've got most of your witnesses killed. Fine job there, Ranger, lets hope we don't meet the same fate."

I took another drag, behind me the meat wagon went about their work oblivious to our argument. "You agreed to be here, and if you can't live with that - "

"Then what?" She said, jabbing a finger into my chest. "You can't do _shit_ to Francine Ponderosa."

"Don't do that," I smacked her hand away. Her handler took a step closer, I grabbed the handle of my pistol.

"Francine Ponderosa _is_ the mission," she folded her arms. "You aren't going to shoot me, or him. You say these roads are unsafe? Well, Francine Ponderosa is heading to Vegas right now, with or without you. Want to stop me, you're going to have to shoot me."

* * *

 **Checkpoint Bravo**

The detachment arrived just after 1500 yesterday afternoon. Johns had convinced Bonneville to send a four man escort for the doctor, one Major Alexander, the resident outpost doctor I'd met during in-processing. Gomez and Alexander worked on Liam through most of the night and through the day. They had to open him up and try to repair his lungs best they could. When they finally emerged this morning, the look on Gomez's face said it all.

"We did all we could."

Tommy simply hung his head and pounded a fist into his thigh.

"Fuck," he said. One of the few words he'd spoken since Saturday.

"Let me get Johns on the horn, better let him know."

I went back to the roof and was greeted by another mojave sunset while I spooled up the antennae. _Liam_ I thought, looking out into the crimson sky, _if you're up there partner, put in a good word for us._

Then I lit two smokes, letting one burn on its own before I tried to raise Johns.


	17. Deployment - 17

**Checkpoint Bravo**

I stayed on the roof for a long while after I'd spoken with Johns. Bonneville's men had formed a perimeter of sorts around our two ramshackle buildings and I could spy their cook fires from my perch.

"This comes straight from command," he'd said over the radio. He knew I wasn't like to take the news well, "straight from command" meant "I can't do shit about it."

"Continue with the mission objective," he said. They were willing to expend almost an entire merc company to free up the road but I couldn't even take a spare soldier with me all the way to Vegas?

That left myself, Gomez, Tommy and the crazies to fend for ourselves. I tried to visualize the route in my mind. It felt like a lifetime ago since I'd been in the mojave.

There were footsteps on the ladder. _Gomez_ , I thought. I hadn't checked on her since the news. The steps belonged to a heavier person I realized as they drew near. I was surprised to see Tommy's face popped over the edge of the roof.

"S-sir," he called out. Tommy'd been all but silent since it all went down. Sometimes guys clam up afterwards.

"Everything alright?" I said. Maybe Francine had gotten out of her zip ties.

"Mind if I stay up here a while … I just … I just need to get away for a while."

I nodded and handed him a smoke.

"Pop a squat," I said, "stay as long as you want."

Up close I could see his youth. He looked no more than a teenager with long hair and a patchy goatee to match. He was thin and lanky underneath the thick leather the merc company had donned, a skull stitched into the shoulder. He took the cigarette and I offered him a light as he sat cross legged.

He sat for a moment before he spoke, "he ran, didn't he?" His eyes squinted as he considered the thought. "Rick, he ran."

I cleared my throat, "he did."

"He was a coward, then." I looked at Tommy, smoke drifting from his nose.

"Now I wouldn't say that," I took a drag, "lots of folk'll run in that same scenario."

" _I_ didn't run," he insisted.

"I tell you what." I said, "the NCR, they try to train that out of you. That reflex to just cut tail and go. Thing is, it don't matter who you are, or how many notches you claim. I seen even the experienced fellas freeze up from time to time." I flicked at my cigarette, "that's instinct ... In my mind that don't make you a coward."

Tommy sat on that for a moment, taking a couple more drags from his smoke. "We were bartenders, you know." He let out a chuckle.

"Who was, you?"

"Yeah," he said, "Rick and I. Used to call him Pretty Ricky at the bar, always had a way with women, always got better tips, too."

"Goddamn," I said, "how'd a couple of bartenders end up out in this mess."

"It was Liam, really … Our place, back at The Hub, it was called _The Limelight_. Guy who owned the place loved him live performers. Liam fancied a girl there who'd play on the regular. Kept him coming back."

"She fancy him?" I asked.

Tommy sighed, "no, well, you've seen him ... I wouldn't have called him ugly, but lets just say there aren't many young starlets out there looking for a one-eyed war vet." He took another drag, letting the cigarette burn down to his finger before flicking the butt over the side of the building. "She was more … interested in caps than love, anyways. She wanted to be a star, you know, swooning for every man that stumbled in with the jingle of caps in his pocket."

"And Liam was broke," I took my last drag and pulled two more smokes from the pack.

"Only because he spent his pension at the bar," he said, grabbing the smoke, "could've opened his own place if he hadn't spent every cap he had on booze."

"So what happened, if you don't mind me askin'?" I said, flicking the lighter, "usually folks who are scrapin' for nickels ain't startin' up merc companies."

"Well, I think it started when one day a guy came in and sat at the bar. Black guy, eyepatch, pencil thin mustache, couldn't forget him if you wanted to." Tommy grabbed the smoke and took a drag, "not everyday you get two guys in the same bar wearing an eyepatch, you know?"

"So Liam was there, too?"

"Of course, his girl was playing that night. Well, singing. She played a little piano but mostly sang ... Anyways, this guy his name was also Tommy, which was funny. So now we've got two guys with an eyepatch and two guys named Tommy all in one place." He let out a chuckle.

"This Tommy though, he was different. He starts throwing caps around like there was no tomorrow. Buys drinks for the whole place and keeps saying something like, 'drinks on the Tops,' then something about it being the finest entertainment experience in all of New Vegas."

"End of the night, he's handing out a stacks of business cards to all the performers before the boss had him shuffled out. He says he's leaving the next day, back to New Vegas, and if anyone wanted to be a star, he'd be by the front gate."

I said, "so she went with him, then."

"Damn right, she did." He said, "well, at least Liam thought she did. We just never saw her again. Boss was pissed, too ... It wasn't only Liam that was coming to see her every night if you know what I mean. Girl had a way about her. Ivy was what she went by. Ivy Catalina." He stopped for a moment, looking out into the night. Somewhere in the distance one of Bonneville's men let out a cough.

"Then … Well, Liam kind of just sat around for a while doing the same thing he always did. He was different then, though, something inside had gone dark. There were nights he didn't even look at the stage, he'd just stare into his drink until we closed for the night and he'd be there when we opened. He used to say he had these nightmares, something about the NCR. I think they got worse when Ivy left."

"Nothin' can drive a man to drinkin' faster than a woman." I said, leaning back in my chair, "best just to leave em' be."

"Too late to leave her be, I think. Seems like he was just trying to forget. Sometimes, I guess people can just have that effect on you, though ... Up and one day, Liam just disappears for about a month or so. I started to think the worst, like he offed himself or something, but then he shows back up one night says he's got the opportunity of a lifetime for us."

"For you and Rick?"

"Yeah, why he asked us, I don't know. Could be he didn't know anybody else, been at the bar the better part of two years."

"So he offered you a job ... as a mercenary?" I took a drag, "y'all ever even shot a gun before?"

"Here and there, growing up. Never like this though," he grabbed at his rifle.

"So why'd you do it? Seems like an awfully big ask for a couple'a bartenders."

"Why not?" He said. "The pay was good … and I guess I always wondered what it would be like … " I watched as that thought drifted through his head. He turned his gaze to the ground, clenching his jaw.

"This job," I said, "have any idea how Liam got hooked up with Francine?"

"Don't know," he said. "Makes sense when you think about it, though. Liam wanted to get to Vegas, Francine and her caps was his ticket."


	18. Deployment - 18

**Checkpoint Bravo**

It was early when I looked over Liam's body while Bonneville's men gathered their things and escorted Major Alexander back to the Outpost. They'd done a good job gettin' him ready for the meat wagon, I just wanted to be sure I took one last look. He'd been cleaned up fairly well, Gomez had taken the time to put an "F" on his forehead and a fresh set of clothes had been pulled over the wounds and surgical incisions on his chest. They'd begun to fester in the morning light though, and little pools of pus bled through the t-shirt they'd put him in. Flies had started to buzz about and I swatted at them wondering how near the meat wagon was now.

I opened Liam's rucksack that Gomez had lined up next to his body. _Sorry partner_. It felt wrong goin' through another mans things, but after hearin' what Tommy had to say, I needed to have a look. Seems like Liam could've been into something bad with Francine, maybe unknowingly. Nothin' about the job seemed right to me and I wanted to find out why somebody would be spendin' so many caps to get Francine and her cargo, whatever it was, to Vegas.

Old Liam did leave me a present in the form of his rifle. It was a carbine of sorts, took 5.56 rounds, and was in decent shape. Didn't seem like it had the same body type of the service rifle's the Gomez and Tommy carried, it was longer and lower profile. The wood was worn but that ain't nothin' that can't be fixed with some sand paper. A simple machine, but in the end, I prefer simple to complex any day of the week.

Liam didn't have much left on his person, and what was still packed away had rips and shards of shrapnel still stuck in. There was some extra clothes, a couple pairs of skivvies, a canteen, some full and empty mags, and that was it. Seemed odd a man walking the wastes without any type of identification, not a cap or dollar to his name. That or someone'd been through his things already.

I took a moment to think about things and pulled a smoke from my pocket. _Would Francine have been able to get her hands on his bag?_ Somethin' felt amiss here. I looked down at Liam and couldn't help but feel a little tingle of guilt run up my spine. _Could'a been me_. What if I had taken the south building with the Greenhornes? Would I have tripped that mine? Hard to say. And what about Rick, could I have said somethin' different. Just a scared kid … a barkeep … what the hell. Too fuckin' young to be out here in this heap. _Maybe it should'a been me_ and Liam would be sittin' here ponderin' life over my dead corpse. I had to push all that away though, for now gotta focus on gettin' to Nipton by days end. I gave Liam one last look, never even found out his last name.

By the time I'd made it back to the south building, Gomez and Tommy had a cook-fire goin' and were fixing up some breakfast. I decided to check on Francine and get her up and movin' for the day ahead. As much as I would have liked to keep her in them zip ties, I needed her to be quicker on her feet. That meant getting her fed and watered before we hit the road.

"Ready to play nice?" I said. I'd tied her handler up first, thinkin' he might be more like to give me trouble if I started fussin' with Francine. He struggled a bit at first, strong fella, but before long he was quiet, submissive even. Not Francine, let me tell you. This woman squirmed and kicked and screamed in third person all the way into the south building. By the time I'd tied her legs together and rolled her onto a bedroll, my ear drums felt like they'd damn near split in two. Decided right then and there she'd be gettin' the gag. Had to waste a t-shirt and some duct tape but the few hours of sleep I'd gotten last night were well worth it.

She'd been strugglin' all night, and as a result, she'd cut sores into her wrists which had bled then scabbed up around the plastic.

"I told you to quit fussin'," I said, "what're you tryin' to do?"

As I cut the t-shirt away she let out a dry heave. She stunk, they both did, and it was only gettin' worse by the day. Poor old Liam smelled like a petunia compared to them two. I had half a mind to hose them both down, but I didn't have the water to spare. First order of business at Nipton would definitely be to disinfect the two of em'.

Francine looked at me, her eyes beat red. "I've never been so humiliated - "

"That's what you said yesterday, and day before. Seems like we keep bestin' ourselves."

"You," she said, "you, you neanderthal." She raged at me, her mouth gaped in a growl. "You _will_ live to regret how you've treated Francine Ponderosa."

I started to undo her handler, "now that's not a very nice way to start the day off there , is it?"

"Please," she scoffed, standing and brushing herself off, "we're beyond pleasantries. Held captive, unable to move or breathe, forced to piss myself. _You_ expect, what, a good morning?"

The handler stood as I cut away the plastic on his wrist, "I told you these zip ties would be wholly unnecessary if you hadn't tried to up and leave on your own."

"And I told you," she said, "that Francine Ponderosa has _deadlines_ to keep."

"Right, with the deadlines again." I looked at Gomez and Tommy, "y'all get these two some food. Gomez, gonna need you to look at her wrists there."

"What. is. that." She gawked at the pot over the fire. Inside a generous helping of pale oatmeal bubbled, almost ready.

"What you're gonna eat," I said. "Not hustle up, we got a six hour march ahead of us and the day ain't gettin' any shorter."

* * *

 **Nipton Hotel**

Nipton has changed a fair bit since last time I came through here. We made good time and by two in the afternoon, we were outside the metal walls. There was a police checkpoint to get through, the town sheriff took a look at our NCR passports and waved us through. We stopped and spoke briefly,

"Mind comin' by a the station a little later," he said, "just down the road here. Wanted to see if you might have an update regards to the road east. NCR's not lettin' anyone in or out of here still. There'd be some whiskey in it if you'd oblige me."

"Make it a _tequila_ and you've got yourself a deal." I cared more for mescal than whiskey.

"Got a fresh bottle, worm ain't even dead yet."

I nodded, "I'll see you later then. Any chance you might be able to point me to an inn for the evening?"

"Right over there, just before you get to town hall take a left, you'll hit Nipton Hotel." He said, "the fella that runs the place is mighty peculiar, tell him accommodation is compliments of Mayor Steyn. Happy to have another friendly face 'round here."

The hotel was a small single floor adobe house with two open windows and saloon doors where the front door should be. I left Tommy outside in charge of Francine and the handler while Gomez and I went to see about rooms. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust once inside, what I saw was a surprise.

"Welcome, traveler!"

An orbital machine hovered behind a RobCo terminal, its mechanical arms moving in every which direction. One arm held a dust rag and worked feverishly knocking specs off of an ornate set of succulents. Another clicked and clacked at the terminal while yet another turned the knob on an old radio with its hooked joint.

"How may I assist you, today?" Towards the middle of its body was a large yellow orb of an eye, it danced between the two of us, growing and shrinking.

"The two of you look like you've had a long day," its metallic voice clanged. "How about an ice-cold refreshing Nuka-Cola?"

One of its arms was already reaching for the fridge when Gomez piped in, "Yes!" she said. "Haven't had anything cold in days."

"We need a room," I said, "Sheriff told me to tell you it's compliments of Mayor Steyn."

"Oh how positively splendid," it replied.

I'll admit, I was normally a Sunset Sasparilla kind of guy but the cold Nuka tasted just about as good as I'd ever remembered it being. The day had been hot, and coolness of any kind was a welcome relief.

"How many room will you be requiring?"

"How many rooms do you have?" I asked.

"I have two rooms vacant, both of which have two double beds and private baths."

"I'll take both of those."

"Oh how positively splendid," It replied. "Your name sir, just for our records."

"Dexter Fox."

"Oh what a lovely name sir, your parents had splendiferous taste," it said, "and who might this be with you?"

"Mary Jan - "

"Can you just mark plus one," I asked. Gomez gave me that annoyed look she liked to give me.

"Why certainly, Mister Fox." It said, reaching one of its arms for a set of keys. "My manifest records are programmed to terminate every seven days, confidentiality is one of the many benefits you and your … plus one … will enjoy here at the Nipton Hotel."

"Its not like that," I said. Gomez rolled her eyes and chuckled.

"No?" It said, " then will you be requiring any whores, this evening?"

"Whores?" I said, trying not to cough up my Nuka.

"Why yes, Mister Fox. Whores, hookers, working girls."

"Yes, I know what a whore is you addle-headed … " I said. "What kind of question is that?"

"My apologies if I've offended, Mister Fox. I simply assumed by your traditional NCR habiliment and the complimentary room that Mayor Steyn has provided that you'd be indulging in some of our towns fine industry."

"I'm just here for a place to sleep, Mister … "

"Orde-lees," it said, "my parents weren't as splendiferous as yours it seems when selecting what I would be called."

"I'll just take the keys, Orde-lees." I said, "and thank you kindly for the cola."

"Gomez, get Tommy and the others in here, I've got an appointment with the Sheriff."


	19. Deployment - 19

**Nipton Hotel**

The Dead Horse Inn was a new addition to Nipton's main street. The pine on the walls were still tan and smelled of freshly cut wood. There was a large wrap-around porch that featured a number of benches where, in the darkness of night, folks would congregate to do unmentionables. Inside a piano livened up the night air with pre-war jingles, somewhere a saloon girl was belting out a song to raucous applause.

I noticed him at first, maybe it was the tequilas the Sheriff had generously poured over the past few hours, but I could have sworn it was Tommy. I rubbed my eyes, they were dry, tired and heavy and screamed at me to hit the hay. I looked again, there was another man, they were … intertwined in such a way. _Was it Tommy_? I decided it was none of my business and that was that. It probably wasn't Tommy anyways, he'd probably be sitting in the hotel room when I got back.

I walked along, swaying every so often, spitting into the dirt as was my custom when I'd had too much to drink. I knew it. It was blanco tequila, the kind that was bottled straight from the still. It hit hard and fast and left and felt like you'd shoved a torch down your throat. I shouldn't have been drinking on duty, really, but after I'd told the Sheriff we'd cleared the road west, he took to ramblin'. At I some point I'd tuned him out. My cigarettes were empty too, save my lucky which I readily sparked as the hotel came into view in the distance.

Through the door Orde-lees and his glowing eye greeted me.

"Greetings, Mr. Fox!" It was loud enough that I had no worries Francine would slip out into the night. Surely, Orde-lees would greet her with a perky quip that would double as an alarm. Besides, if she knew what was good for her, she wouldn't try to bolt at this point. We're on the move alright, fast as we can manage. I want to get rid of her more than she wants to be rid of me, I suspect.

I jangled the keys into the lock after a minute or two of foolin'. I turned at it, realizing it had been unlocked the whole time. Gomez was on the corner bed sprawled out with her book again. The light from the bedside lamp cast long shadow across the room. She looked up when I walked in, her hair dark and wet and brushed sideways across her face. I noticed the bathroom, Gomez had strung up her skivvies and a few other articles. The whole place smelled like soap and abraxo, a welcome juxtaposition.

"Dang thing," I nodded at the door, sliding the keys across the nightstand that separated the two beds. I plopped down, knocking my campaign hat to the floor. I laid there for a moment and closed my eyes, realizing that the longer I laid there the more likely it was I'd fall right out still clad in my patrol gear.

"Where's Tommy," I said. I let out a groan as up sat up, my back muscles protesting with each twist of my torso. I unfastened a boot, then the other. Gomez kept her nose in her book.

"You heard me, Corporal?" The air felt good on my feet as I peeled off my socks. I gave my calluses a good rub before working on the straps of my breast plate. Gomez didn't register, she just sat there, reading.

"He up and left, didn't say nothin' to you?" I pulled the ashtray closer and flicked and inch of char into the tray. I looked at her, face strained, eyes looking at the page but certainly not _reading_ the page.

"Alright Corporal," I said. "Where's Tommy? Last time I'm askin' nice."

"Why don't you go find him yourself?" She snapped the book shut and tossed it on the night stand. "Can't I get just one night of quiet without ten thousands questions?"

She turned to face the wall, arms folded across her chest.

"Just a simple question," I said, standing to pull the breast plate off. _I got achy knees, a stiff back and another pain in my ass_. "Don't think it takes too much effort to provide a simple answer."

"Not here," she said, "I don't know where. Doesn't matter." It was then I heard it, the little waver in her voice. A crack in the armor.

"Right," I said, dabbing out the cigarette. "Gotta take a piss."

The bathroom had no door, that was unfortunate. I looked for it for some time before I realized I was just staring at a door jam. In my state, I couldn't be entirely sure I wasn't missin' it. There were shards of a broken mirror plastered onto the wall above the rusted out sink. At the far end, a claw foot bathtub that I hoped had at least some hot water sat, still draining. As I stood there, Gomez's skivvies all around, I got the craziest tickle. Her skivvies were made up exclusively of shit-stain brown NCR issue briefs. It probably wouldn't have been funny at any other time, but for some reason, it hit me in that moment. Maybe I was delirious, drunk, or a little of both but I stood and got a good long laugh while I braced myself against the wall, trying to steer my piss into the toilet bowl.

Gomez was still pouting as I walked back out, feigning sleep. I waited, sliding my ammo belt off and hanging it on the bed post. I noticed Tommy's rucksack in the corner, underneath a coat rack. If he wanted to leave, he wouldn't get very far. I reached into my own pack and pulled one of my liter bottles of water from the outpost. I took in as much as I could without bursting, I was going to need it if I had any chance of feelin' normal the next day. I went to reach for the light when Gomez turned, her eyes met mine. They were all red around her mossy-green, and all at once she looked about twelve years old.

"How can you just laugh?" She asked, "after all that, you can just laugh? And go get drunk with some town Sheriff?" She turned back as I sat there. I looked for my cigarettes but they were empty, my spare packs in my ruck.

"Sometimes Corporal," I said, "you just gotta laugh. It don't have to make sense."

"Well, it doesn't make sense," she said.

"Like I said, it don't got to make sense. Losin' people is part of this thing …"

I took a deep breath and lingered for a bit, tryin' to pick my words carefully, "I know you did your best - "

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"I can take care of myself. I don't _need_ any words of wisdom … I've never lost anybody before … in the field. It doesn't matter, it's fine, can we just stop talking?"

* * *

That night, as I laid in the dark waiting for Tommy to stumble in I thought about Bitter Springs. It was the part of my mind that I pushed away, but crept in nonetheless. Back then I didn't have answers, I still don't. I thought about Top, where he was now, was he somewhere staring into a bottle? I envied Top, he was always stoic even in the face of the worst shit imaginable and I always wondered how he did it. Top was an enigma, a no strings attached killing machine that didn't have time for bullshit. That's what he wanted us to be, too… That's what he expected from us, no weakness. That's why Hanlon gave him the black. I remembered the last time I saw him, at Rudd's funeral, I was surprised to see him, actually. Suicide is a hell of a thing. Rudd's kids were there, his wife, not a dry eye in the place and Top is just standing in the back. He had this look on his face, like he was disappointed. _Rudd was weak_ , I could see him thinking it, Top got us all through deployment and here was Rudd and his noose … Couldn't handle it. Then Thump drank himself to death, and it was just Top and I left. Thump's funeral was different. Where Rudd's family had tried to save him, Thump's had given up, out of self-preservation more than anything I imagine. Thump had torn everyone and everything around him apart the way I heard it. The Honor Guard outnumbered the guests at the funeral, and that was all there was to it.

Top was absent. I remember being pissed at the time but I get it now. Top couldn't handle it, the disappointment. That shit ran too deep for him to dive into, his proteges. The mission always came first, and it was always accomplished at _any_ cost. Top saw us as his mission, and despite it all, I imagine he thought he'd failed us. I'm still here though, and this is what we do, endure.

I thought about Top, whether he'd be proud as I dug that knife into that womans throat. I remember the first time Top had done that very same maneuver. He was a much bigger man than top, but that didn't matter none. Rudd, Thump and I watched. I remember the dark thick-blood running down the back of the mans leather vest, right over top of the Khan's face, and Top just stood up and smiled. Ha. He fucking smiled. Like it was the best day of his life, like he was born to do this. I wondered right then and there if I'd ever be able to reach that level, what it would feel like. Top would probably have just stood there and smiled and handed me a cigarette like he did when that little girl lay dying in my arms. Innocent or guilty, we are the reapers.

Truth is, I didn't feel anything, not anymore… Even when I tried... Maybe that's how it's supposed to be.

* * *

 **Nipton Hotel**

"Suns up," I opened my eyes, _my fucking head_ , "hey, you hear me?" Gomez was kicking the bed frame.

"Yeah," I sat up and rubbed at my eyes, my head felt like a knife had scrambled my brains.

"Take two of these," Gomez threw a bottle of pills on the sheets next to me, "Francine went into town with Tommy… Something about new clothes, I didn't think you'd mind."

I looked around for my cigarettes, my dog tags cold against my chest. _I don't remember getting undressed_.

"Tommy's back?"

"Came in some time in the night, must've slept on the floor," Gomez said. She was digging into a can of fruit.

"Good," I said, pulling a lucky strike from the pack, "you ask him where he was?'

"Nope," she said, stabbing at a chunk of grapefruit, "figured it was none of my business."

I looked around the room and started to piece things together. My clothes were in a lazy pile by my ruck, save for my PT shorts which I'd managed to pull on. _Guess I got hot in the night_.

"Orde-lees brought coffee," Gomez said through a mouthful. By the door, atop the dresser was a percolator and three mugs sitting on a platter.

"Goddamn," I said, standing. The headrush only accentuated the pain, I squinted as it came and went _fucking tequila_. The coffee was hot and I let my face hover over the steam for a moment before I turned back to the bed. Gomez's eyes followed me. She looked more womanly this morning. Her hair was pulled back today in a tight bun, she'd already dressed for the day, her ruck sat at the foot of the bed, neatly packed, rifle at the ready.

"What?" I said as I sat back down.

"Nothin'," she said, "just wondering if you always talk in your sleep like that?"

"Was I?" I took a large swig of coffee, grateful that Orde-lees had made it strong. I laid back on the bed, closing my eyes, willing this headache away. "Don't know, suppose I'm always asleep so I can't know if I'm talkin' or not."

"Kind of fucked up," she said. "They call that a symptom _parasomnia_ , had a whole unit about it back at The Boneyard. Assume that's been happening a while? Also why you got up in the middle of the night and took your clothes off?"

"It was hot," I said. "Ain't nothin' more to it than that."

"Alright," she said, "if you say so - "

"It's nothin'," I reached for the coffee once more. There were hurried footsteps outside that got my attention. I sat up as the door flung open.

"It's Francine," Tommy was there, someone had clocked him one, I could see his left eye was swollen underneath his shaggy mop. "We've got a problem."


	20. Deployment - 20

**Nipton**

The crowd that had gathered parted with the bluster and I caught a glimpse on an indignant Francine being pulled by her hair down main street, right toward the stockade that sat in front of City Hall.

"Well, no wiggling her way out of this one," Gomez who'd found her service rifle and followed me into the road and offered her pun. My head screamed as my heartbeat pounded my brain like a drum, last night's tequila wafting from my pores into the morning haze.

"I-I tried to stop them," Tommy was poking at the swollen flesh that protruded around his eye, "b-but her goddamn mouth!"

"It ain't your fault," I said, "sometimes there's no sense in fightin' a battle that ain't worth winnin'." I pulled my pistol from its holster and fired a cautionary shot into the air.

"Now what's this all about?" I looked at the man who had a handful of Francine's hair, clad in the kind of dusty leathers and a poncho that portrayed a life on the road.

"This yer bitch!" He yelled through black teeth.

"It is," I yelled back, wishing I was back in bed. It was deathly silent, my words echoed off the the clapboard of the brothels and casinos that lined Nipton's main drag. The gunshot had brought the townsfolk out, their curiosity piqued. Working girls stood in burlesque and lingerie from balconies. Beneath them bartenders, shop keeps, and stable boys all jostled with each other street side for room to see what the commotion was all about.

"He yers too?" He motioned to the handler who was bloodied and limp in the arms of a rugged posse who hooted and shook the man, passing a whiskey bottle between them.

"Mine too…"

He stood for a while, sizing me up and spat a wad of phlegm into the dirt. I knew men of this kind, men who were more like to solve problems with their iron instead than their brain. Not a reasonable bone in his body.

"Let's get on with it then," he shouted. I knew what it meant. The gouges in my neck stung as my blood rose and I holstered my sidearm. The crowd parted and pushed further back, lining the avenue.

"Get on with what?' Gomez protested. _Draw_ , I wanted to say.

"Corporal," I nodded to the men across the way. "Keep your rifle at the ready."

The man let go of Francine who scampered to her feet, "unhand me, you putrid -" Before she could finish the man loaded a backhand slap that landed like a slug to the face. Francine crumpled with a whimper.

"You gonna draw down with _me_?" The man puffed his chest, adjusting the rings on his fingers that had gone askew with the slap, "NCR's got some balls, hey boys?" His posse hollered and slapped each other on their backs. I shot a quick glance in their direction and counted, five men, five guns, five shots, not enough rounds. I had to hope Gomez and Tommy would shoot true.

"Not if we can avoid it." I said.

"Avoid it?" The man spat.

 _"Ranger's scared ah you Jed!"_ His posse set in, much to the crowds delight.

 _"He's yellah!"_

He slid the black poncho from his shoulders revealing a large caliber pistol. It was clean and nickel plated and gleamed in the morning sun. The grip looked ivory and was carved in an ornate pattern that resembled the skin of a snake, definitely a custom job. He rested a hand on its butt and sucked the air through his teeth, "I never killed me a Ranger before," he looked down his nose at me, black eyes beneath a patch of sideways oily hair, "I reckon you're about to make me famous."

 _"Two hundred caps on Dead-Eye Jed,"_ a gambler in a bowler cap yelled.

 _"Three hundred on the Ranger!"_

 _"I'll take that action."_

I circled to the man's left, fighting back the sudden urge to vomit and instead unsheathed a cigarette. I was no good in a draw, never had been, always a second too slow. The Rangers weren't much for bluster. We hide in the shadows, kill with stealth when we can, this was outside my wheelhouse. People in these parts had been settling their differences the old fashioned for a long while and this fella seemed like he'd seen more than a few. If I had to draw down, I'd likely lose. If I was a smarter man I'd have thrown Francine my pistol belt and said _good luck_ , but it was too late for that now.

The clock hadn't struck noon yet and already the heat was stifling, I'd managed to only pull on a shirt and pants before I scurried out of the hotel, no armor, no protection other than a good offense. Sweat dripped down my back and forehead as wiped my shooting hand against my pants, trying in vain to keep my palm dry.

"We draw on three, Ranger." The man flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw hard. The crowd roared.

I looked back at Gomez who had dropped to a knee behind a horse trough and gotten an angle on the posse, her rifle at the ready. I had half a mind to tell her to haul ass back to the outpost, but I knew she wouldn't, even if I tried. Tommy had taken an alleyway and gave me a nod of reassurance. I imagined he thought I'd win this thing, I wasn't so sure.

"What'd she do got you so heated, anyway." I said, flicking the cigarette butt into the dirt.

"You got yerself a mouthy bitch," the man smiled then glowered at Francine who had dragged herself behind a pillar and was nursing her face, "but that don't matter none now."

"You kill me, the NCR's gonna be coming for you."

The man turned to smile at his boys, then back at me, "Look like we give a damn?" He said, "look around Ranger, this ain't NCR territory, you done forgot your place in the world."

"Could be," I said, "don't change the fact that you're fixin' to find yourself in an early grave whether I'm pullin' the trigger or somebody else is."

"One," the man said. He balled his shooting hand into a fist and shook it out. I felt my shoulders tense as the world slowed around me.

There was a tunnel-vision to this, I could almost taste the cordite in the air. Being in a gunfight is almost like sensory overload, like everything gets turned up to one-thousand. You hear everything, see everything, your reflexes are quicker and more exaggerated. They try to train you out of it so that your movements are mechanical and calculated by your subconscious mind that is unaffected by adrenaline and the brains process. Probably just some bullshit they tell you to give you that fraction of an edge, I needed that edge now.

"There been a lot of men stood just where you're standin' now Ranger. Yet here I am! Ain't some miracle, some _dee-vine_ intervention. You think little-ol you gonna change that?" He laughed.

"Two."

My breath shortened as I squinted, center mass. In the blink of an eye, I had run the scenario through my head a dozen times. Lead with the elbow, flick the hammer. I glanced at his posse, they were more serious now, guns-in-hand, maneuvering out of the crossfire was going to be difficult. Collateral damage. Dead civilians. Johns wasn't going to be happy, neither was Hanlon. Johns and Hanlon didn't mean shit to a dead man.

We made eye contact one last time, he squared up, shoulders wide, and gave a slight nod that portrayed a kindness in his eyes. Like he was doing me a favor. Maybe he was.

"Three."


	21. Deployment - 21

**Nipton**

Lady Luck, the magnificent bitch. She was always there, more so in the Mojave, a slight of the hand, a roll of the dice. Take her or leave her, for better for worse.

 _Bang_

The first bullet hit the man square, I glanced down at my pistol that was queerly still sitting in its holster. My hand hadn't moved.

 _Boom, Bang_

Two more shots rang out behind me, and each round cracked through the air before ripping into the man as he fell. _Fuck_ I thought, _Gomez_. His posse began to scramble, the wild pack of dogs taking aim in my direction.

 _Bang_

Another shot buzzed through the air, I couldn't see where it landed and didn't wait to find out neither. There was a pallet stacked high with millet and grain I noticed before the showdown, I slid behind it, my knee bit the dirt hard. I pressed my back against the bags and looked for Gomez. She was there, nervously aiming down sights but she wasn't firing. That's when they came into view, Sheriff Padilla and his deputies standing in the middle of the road like the goddamn cavalry. _Kiss. My. Grits._

The townsfolk scattered like they were used to this kind of thing. It was blinding, people turning every which way, like flocks of birds into houses, shops, inns, whatever open door they could find to avoid the crossfire. I locked onto Gomez, willing her eyes towards mine and motioned for her to come to me. I edged a look around the side of the pallet, squinting into the crowd to get a beat on Francine. Last thing I needed was for her to get clipped in the crossfire or set off on her own like a bandit in the night.

"What the fuck!" Gomez fell in hard beside me, breathing heavy.

"Do you see her?"

"Who?"

"Ponderosa," _shit_. The alley where Tommy had been was empty. I looked back at where the Sheriff had stood, it was all a mess of dust and dirt kicked up in the fussin'. The bullets had stopped for the moment, and I crouched around the corner to take a gander at the posse. There were bodies, that was for certain, two or three craned in the unnatural way dead people tended to be. No telling if the handler was among them. To my left, the pillar Francine had been leaning on stood bare now, she'd gotten off to somewhere.

"On me, Corporal."

Directly adjacent the pillar was a single story building with a sign that read 'Paulsen Brothers, Groceries, Feed & Dry Goods,' the door was latched tight.

"Where's Tommy?" Gomez asked, realizing he'd disappeared. I blinked the question away as I rapped on the wooden door frame, _no time for that now_. Inside a candle flickered through the slats in the window, I watched for movement. There was yelling in the distance as folks began to pop their heads out of doors and windows to gape at the aftermath. I shook the doorknob, there was something on the other side bracing the frame.

"Breaching," I said, unholstering my pistol. I grit my teeth as the door gave way on the third kick jamming up my knee in the process. The slat of wood holding it in place splintered onto the floor. There were rows of canned goods, boxes of Dandy Boys, Abraxo and an out-of-order Nuka Cola machine towards the back. A cash register stood to my right-hand side flanked by some papers and a clipboard illuminated by a single candle that had been burning for some time. I pushed on, past the aisles to an interior door in the back of the room. There was light streaming through the cracks in the door jam on the other side as I slowly turned the knob.

The sun met my eyes in the next room streaming through the back door as it swung lazily in the wind. Francine stood in the door frame, whimpering.

"Goddamnit" I seethed and grabbed her by the arm. Her eyes were crossed and her slight frame wobbled under my grip. Her right eye was swollen shut and there was an open gash that pulsed blood down her cheekbone.

"Shit, she's fucked up," Gomez said.

"Did he smack some sense into you?" I was fuming, the heat rising in my face, "goddamnit," it was all I could muster as I pushed her against the wall, my hand snugly around her windpipe. _I should choke that smug look off your face._

"Corporal," I said, easing my hand away. I watched with some pleasure as Francine gasped for air and collapsed into a heap on the floor. I propped myself against the wall with one hand and took a deep breath reaching for my smokes, "can you -"

"Ho there, Rangers." A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the sun. I squinted into the light, it was one of the Sheriff's Deputy's, the gangly one.

"Sheriff's been shot. We got lots of wounded... If you can spare it, Doc Tanner'll be needin' your assistance right away."


	22. Deployment - 22

**Nipton Hotel**

By the time they got the Sheriff into surgery, he'd already bled out. The Doc called it in the afternoon, not enough resources to spare, the damage was too significant and the Sheriff had passed… All because Francine Ponderosa mouthed off to the wrong people. When we get moving again I have half a mind to gag her all the way to McCarran. Whatever happens, I won't let her cause another death because of her smug carelessness. Already enough senseless death to go around out here without Francine's contribution. We do things my way, from here on.

Spent the better part of the day up at the clinic doing a lot of waiting around and trying to be helpful. Doc Tanner and his assistant's had their hands full. Gomez did what she could and jumped in on the surgery to try and save the Sheriff, it was a long day for her especially coming off what happened down the road, I'm more than a little worried about her mental state. She's still up at the clinic keeping an eye on Francine and the other casualties of the day.

Speaking of, Tommy revealed himself in due order after his disappearing act. Showed up at the clinic with Francine's handler in tow. Says he went after Francine when the shooting started, whether or not that's true, don't much matter now. Tommy will be fine, but the handler is worse off than Francine. Doc did some x-rays, fractured jaw, a couple of broken ribs, and some stitches later he'll be laid up a while, just like Francine. Funny thing Doc pointed out, those ribs had been broken more than a few times, not to mention all the scars the man carries on his body. Doc said looks like telltale signs of torture or abuse of some kind, and I tend to agree. So enough fussin' around, it'll be time to get some answers from Francine soon as she's with it again. Feels like this whole damn thing is a time bomb waiting to explode.

Gomez tells me she's "concussed," and they're still trying to determine the extent of it. The woman squirmed and fussed all the way to the clinic, even in the state she was in. Probably bitches and moans in her dreams as well. They've got her sedated for now, expect some news in the morning on just how soon I can haul her ass out of here and be done with this babysitting job altogether.

The Sheriff got the worst of it today, and it's a darned thing that I'm sittin' here recording my thoughts and he's laid up in a body bag. The man saved my life, Sheriff Padilla, was just sippin' tequila with him the night before and here we are. Don't think that's anything I'll ever get used to, how lightning quick the Mojave can take a man.

Curious thing though as to why the Sheriff and his Deputy's were even out there to begin with. Far as I know, draws still a draw in these parts, the law usually goes about letting people sort themselves out. Deputy Hemsworth who is now Sheriff Hemsworth isn't a day over twenty I reckon based on the peach fuzz he calls a mustache. The boy is gangly too, all limbs, probably a buck thirty soaking wet and scared of his own shadow. The kid wasn't much for talking today. Did find out that the man I was supposed to face off against was called 'Dead-Eye' Jed Oatsman, the dead-eye is for obvious reasons, I suppose. Him and his boys run through here off and on. Sounds like the Sheriff thought they'd been running dope, although doesn't seem like they have the burden of proof. Hard to ask for proof in a town that covers all sins, don't seem to be a lack of anything here, other than maybe lawmen.

* * *

Deep into the evening as I was trying to wind myself down there was a knock at the door. Surprising considering whoever it was had made it past our robotic hotel attendant 'Orde-lees', though I don't know that it's programmed to do much in the way of vetting people. Tommy had been dozing off but jumped to his feet and grabbed at his rifle before I stood to calm him down. The door doesn't have a peep hole, so I took my chances with my .357 behind my back and peeked out.

"Ranger Fox?" A thin, doe-eyed girl stood on the other side of the doorway, peering at me behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses. She was wearing a black pencil skirt with a red button up and blazer, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun that framed a set of dark brown eyes. She was holding a clipboard and pencil and looked like she should be back west in some boardroom not standing outside my hotel room door at eleven o'clock at night.

"Who's askin'?" I said, holstering my sidearm.

"Mayor Steyn," she extended her hand, "Emeline Montgomery, assistant to the Mayor."

I shook her hand and looked back at the clock, "a bit late in the evening, is everything alright?" I had a feeling this had something to do with the Sheriff.

"Oh yes, please excuse the hour, I forget sometimes that people in this town do sleep," she said and flashed me a smile, "may I come in for a moment?"

Tommy eyeballed her as she took a seat on Gomez's bed, tucking her skirt beneath her thighs. She undid the pencil from its holder on her clipboard and I caught a hint of her perfume that smelled of rosehips and lavender. She glanced down at my cigarette that was still smoking in the ashtray and adjusted her glasses.

"Smoke?" I said reaching for my pack.

"No thank you," she said, clearing her throat.

"We sure do appreciate the Mayor's hospitality," I said, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray, "a real bed, cold drinks, working toilets… all of it is most welcome, somethin' of a rare occurrence out here in the desert."

"I can imagine," she said, "I trust you are unharmed? Today's incident was… Most unfortunate."

"Some of us are a little banged up." I said, "I'm mighty sorry about your Sheriff, he was a good man. Can't help but feel somewhat responsible."

"Yes, Sheriff Padilla was a good man." She shifted in her seat, "Though I must say his blind pragmatism will not be missed, now that he's gone."

"Well," I said, wondering what she was getting at, "pragmatic is the first thing I'd want in a Sheriff."

"If only it were that simple." She sighed, and pressed her lips together. "you see, being a public servant in a town like Nipton takes a certain amount of… _finesse_. Yes, there is a political acumen that one must embody, certain compromises must be made in order to maintain the status quo. Our Mayor Steyn is a shining example of what can be achieved when one toes the line, as it were, between pragmatism and... impracticality, for lack of a better word."

She was well rehearsed, at least.

"Well, the rule of law seems fairly black and white, I reckon."

"Yes, and we've seen how that attitude has worked out for the New California Republic thus far." She said, crossing her legs. I clenched my jaw and ate my words like I do when I know there's nothing good to say.

"Please don't take me the wrong way, Ranger Fox, I mean no offense. Simply put, we are servants and wardens of a very tenuous and evolving peace here in Nipton. One which requires a more _delicate_ toolbox to maintain. Sheriff Padilla, rest his soul, was more of a sledgehammer when we are in need of a scalpel."

She smirked, seeming quite pleased with her explanation. I glanced at Tommy who had gotten back to draining his flask of its contents.

"Can I offer you a drink Misses - "

"Emeline," she interrupted, "please, call me Emeline."

"Alright then, Emeline." I said. I walked to the table in the corner of the room and shuffled some of the junk that had accumulated around until I found where the clean shot glasses were hiding. "we get to talkin' any longer we'll need to do it over some whiskey."

"Where are my manners, I don't mean to keep you, " she straightened herself and looked down at the clipboard. "Mayor Steyn requests your presence for a brief discussion tomorrow should your schedule permit."

"In reference to?" I said, uncorking the half-empty bottle of bootleggers I requisitioned from the Outpost before we'd left.

"Merely a formality, the Mayor likes to meet with all of our esteemed guests in person," she said.

"I appreciate the invite, but I ain't much for talkin' politics," I poured the whiskey and handed her a shot glass, "could say I'm a bit old fashioned… or what's your word, _pragmatic._ "

She grinned a politician's grin, white teeth beaming between cherry red lips. "Please, I mustn't, you can see that I'm still on the clock and I'm afraid I've already done more damage than good." She waved off the drink.

"Emeline," I said, "ain't nobody taught you that when a man offers you a drink in his home, you take it. Don't matter if you want it or not."

"Of course, where are my manners again?" She reached out and took the glass, "and since we're giving etiquette lessons, I'll take it you'll see the mayor then, on account it would be rude to reject his invitation?"

She slammed back the shot and set the glass down on the nightstand. Tommy let out a laugh in the corner.

"You drive a hard bargain," I felt my cheeks redden as I took the shot back and wiped the remnants away with the back of my hand.

"The Mayor will see you at eleven seventeen tomorrow morning." She scribbled a note into her clipboard and stood up from the bed.

"Eleven seventeen?"

"He's a busy man, and highly scheduled," she brushed by me and opened the door. "It was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Ranger Fox, please give my regards to your soldier assisting Doctor Tanner, we are truly indebted."

I watched as she turned down the hallway and towards the front door, heels clicking against the wooden floor. Orde-lees jumped into action, piping some inaudible quip that ended in 'splendiferous' as she strode by. "Don't be late," she called out, "eleven seventeen."


	23. Deployment - 23

**Nipton Town Hall**

I stood before Nipton's Town Hall, the large three-story structure loomed over main street, a watchful eye over the depravity of the brothels, casinos, and shadier dealings that flooded the town. In my 'dress greens' the sun was twice as intense, whoever wrote our field manuals from their air conditioned office in Shady Sands didn't know shit about the Mojave. Specifically, wool did not play nice with heat, and as such sweat had begun to form underneath the headband of my campaign hat before my spurs had jangled three steps in the midday sun. It wasn't often that I wore this getup. It was stipulated in FM-607-1 that I was to don my dress green should I attend any political functions or liaising.

Nipton was an unincorporated town, and as such the NCR has no jurisdiction over what happened inside the walls. The law was entirely subjective, held only to the standards that the Sheriff's office and town charter portrayed to be the bill of rights for its citizenry. The NCR considered Mayor Steyn a foreign dignitary, which meant I needed to be on my best behavior if President Kimball ever wanted to chance to bring Nipton into the fold and start collecting tax dollars to fund his 'eastern conquest' further.

Inside, I was directed to the third floor, passing through smartly appointed corridors. The whole place was well kept, from the paintings on the walls to the artifacts from years past that were on display as if I was in a museum as opposed to a political office building. On the second floor I passed what I assume were council chambers. A long 'u' shaped table flanked by the flags of Nevada and California.

On the top floor I reached a placard that read 'Mayor Joseph B. Steyn' affixed to an unassuming door that I opened. Emeline Montgomery's face was mostly occluded by a terminal as I walked in. She craned her head around the side to greet me, brushing a lock of golden hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. She poured me a fresh cup of coffee and complimented me on my uniform, making small talk until the Mayor had finished with his previous appointment.

The double-doors to the Mayor's office opened and out walked an elderly man. He was hunched over and used a cane to prop up what appeared to be a bad leg as he walked.

"Have a pleasant day, Mr. Paulsen," Emeline said as the man passed. _Paulsen_ seemed all too familiar but I couldn't place it until Mayor Steyn reminded me.

Inside the confines of his office I found myself sitting across a large oak desk that took up nearly half the room. Emeline stood in the corner, whipping up two glasses of scotch on ice as Steyn undressed her with his eyes. She served him first, setting the glass down in front of him, her white blouse cut just low enough to capture the Mayor's full attention. After that it was my turn to enjoy the show, instead I reached for a cigarette.

"If you wouldn't mind holding off with that until you're outside?" Steyn sipped at his scotch and raised an offended eyebrow my way. He was a smaller man, short and sported a gut that made him look half-pregnant. He wore a clean gray suit and I noticed a nice pair of wingtips as he stood to greet me when Emeline walked me in. What little hair he had left he combed over in greasy strands and his square, sallow face held a pair of dark eyes surrounded by crows feet. He fashioned his tie loosely as if he'd put in a ten-hour shift and we were coming to the end of a long day though it was not even noon yet. It made me wonder if he hadn't been home in a while or if this was just his 'look'.

I set the cigarette down on the desk next to where Emeline had set the glass. I gandered at the ice in the glass, such a novelty, ice, I hadn't seen any in weeks.

"Thanks, baby." The Mayor said tracing the outline of Emeline's backside as she closed the double doors to his office. He waited a moment once she was gone to ensure she was out of earshot then raised his glass and said, "perks of the job." I drank to it, only to be polite.

"You know what that is over there?" Steyn motioned to what I thought was a red rug on the wall with a little pattern woven into it, "ten-thousand caps, minimum." The ice clinked as he set his glass down. "Ever heard of the Brahmin Wood Tribe?"

I looked down at my glass and wondered if I should. "Can't say I have," I said.

"Me neither," he laughed, "some mud woman made that. There's some bullshit story about it having magical powers or something, at least that's what Crocker said when he gave it to me. Say, you been up to Vegas lately?"

"Not for a while."

"Well, when you're up there again, tell that motherfucker Crocker hello from me, _Mayor_ Steyn. Should give him a good laugh." He made sure to emphasize the word Mayor.

I took a sip of the scotch, it was cold and smooth as it went down my throat, I liked it a little too much. "If I find a Crocker, I'll be sure to send your regards."

"He'll be easy to find," he said, "he's the fucking ambassador now, up on the strip, living the life while I'm out in this dust bowl." He made a sweeping motion to the two windows behind him that overlooked Nipton's main street. "I used to work for him, back west, in a more… civilized environment, if you know what I mean."

"What did you want to see me about," I said, taking another sip, wishing the cigarette I'd left on the desk was between my lips.

"Didn't Miss Montgomery tell you?" He said, "I like to meet with all of our esteemed guests that stay in town for longer than a day. Can't remember the last time we had a Ranger come through our fair town, though." He swirled the ice in his cup and swiveled in his chair. "Say, I wonder what _is_ the reason that you're here though. That is, aside from getting my Sheriff and several paying customers killed in a shootout on main street."

I felt my face redden, "I'm very sorry about your man, it wasn't supposed to go down that way - "

"Oh, don't be, Ranger." He said, "all respect to the dead and all but Padilla was a prick. You did me a favor, really."

"Seemed a fine sort to me," I don't know why but I felt the need to defend Padilla. Never did sit well others slandering the dead, especially when they were just doing their job.

"Try working with him," Steyn stood up and reached for the bottle, he'd gone through his first glass already. "More?" I nodded and he topped me off with a heavy hand.

"Well, I can't help but feel somewhat responsible." I said, "if it wasn't for - "

"He had it coming," Steyn said sitting back down, "Jed that is, the man you were set to square off against there. He was a buffoon. A bag of hot air. Nobody is worse for wear except for old Paulsen's door." He smirked.

It came back now, Paulsen's grocery, breaching the door. "The NCR will - "

"Ranger, let me save you the trouble," he interrupted, "I know the NCR, and how much paperwork you'd have to do to requisition the funds just to fix the man's door. The bureaucracy, the red tape. Consider it done. By the time that old man makes it back to his store, a shiny new front door will be there waiting for him."

"Well, that's mighty kind of you."

"That's what makes this town so great," he swiveled again but this time towards the opposite wall that featured a portrait of President Kimball and a slightly larger version of the same portrait but with Steyn's face painted on it. "Imagine how freeing it must feel to strip yourself of the chains that bind you to the NCR. When I arrived in this shit hole bright eyed and bushy tailed, I never imagined that the townspeople would elect me, _Joseph B. Steyn_ , to help them realize their full potential."

I watched as Steyn admired himself, the portrait made him look thinner, his expression serious and stately.

"I sit in this office every day," he continued, "and you know what I see? Happy people. We offer an experience here in Nipton that is one of a kind, can't find it anywhere else in the world."

"I see that," I said, hoping to placate Steyn enough to shorten his speech.

"The most beautiful women, the hottest blackjack tables, coldest drinks, even…" He stopped and sighed, turning back to me, "chems of all kinds, more variety than even New Vegas, if you can believe it."

"I can," I nodded.

"It is rather curious though, Ranger, that you would not partake in any of our fine offerings."

"I reckon it's all just… not really my thing," I said.

"Company man," he said, "I respect that. You're loyal, men like you always are." He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment before he continued, "you know, I'd say the NCR is responsible for maybe _half_ of our economic prosperity. Soldiers come down the road from the outpost, from Primm, even as far as Novac." He grinned and took another sip, "would you believe I've not had one soldier refuse my charity, not one. I take that back, there was one soldier, well more like a group of soldiers. They passed through here, part of some convoy. Do you know why they refused my charity? Why they refused to spend caps here? Because they were on duty, of course. The mission comes first, right?"

"That's what they say?" I folded my arms, "what are you getting at?"

"Why are you here, Ranger?" He said, "is it because that woman you're with is important to the NCR? Vital to the cause, as it were." He lazily saluted Kimball who stared back at us from the wall.

"It's got nothin' to do with you," I said. "Let's just leave it there."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Ranger." Steyn slammed the last of the scotch from his glass, "I can help you. We can help _each other_."

I looked down to make sure my piece was still holstered on my hip, "I really should be goin', I appreciate your - "

"What does Francine Ponderosa mean to you other than just another mission," he said. "Another job, god damn, you're a career soldier not a babysitter."

How did he know about Francine? "I told you, let's just leave it there. Don't make me lose my manners." I pushed my chair back to stand up.

"Just north of here," he motioned for me to stay in my seat, grinning, "there's an NCR Lieutenant called Kilbane, runs a little checkpoint along ninety-five. Kilbane is a career soldier with whom you can relate, I'd imagine."

"Go on then," I said, dipping back into the scotch. If he knew about our troop movements, I wanted to know how.

"I thought you may find this, interesting." He said, "Kilbane is a real buzzkill, if you know what I mean. Likes to seize any and all contraband, probably sits up the and smokes everything for himself anyways. He runs a little group of scouts too, got eyes all over the ranges where ninety-five gets steep. Not a lot of ways to get through without Kilbane and his men looking at you first."

"I don't know anything about that," I said.

"Here's the thing," he said, tapping his fingers again. "Dead-Eye Jed, the bag of hot air you'll recall from earlier. Jed was resourceful if not stupid as hell. As luck would have it, Jed was the only one who knew how to run chems under Kilbane's nose, and now, Jed's dead, because of you."

"He dug his own grave," I said. "Man like that coulda been killed any number of ways."

"Now I have no chems," Steyn's face got serious, "without chems, what am I going to do with all of these happy people, Ranger?"

"I don't right know. Ain't that why they elected you?"

"I am resourceful," Steyn sighed, letting his air out and leaning back in his chair. I felt my spine stiffen, something didn't feel right here. "Chem runners, dope fiends, whatever you want to call them. Dime a dozen. I've got a few lined up, on their way as we speak."

I watched as he drew a line on his desk with his finger, like a map. "Tomorrow afternoon, my next shipment should be just passing through Kilbane's perimeter. You're going to find a way to get the chems through."

I sat silently as Steyn nodded his head a few times. "I'll tell you what," I said, grabbing my cigarette as I stood. "I'll just pretend we didn't have this conversation, tip my hat, thank you for the scotch and be on my way."

"We can help each other," Steyn said. "I have friends who would like to help with your little Ponderosa problem, and in exchange for…"

"Help how?" I asked.

"Ah, interested are we?" His lips curled into a grin. He tapped his glass, "why don't you have a seat and let's discuss the details…"


End file.
